The Feline Wizard (38 page)

“Why are you surprised, my daughter?” Brother Athanius asked. “Thus everyone who enters the shell leaves it cured of whatsoever infirmity he had.”

“Now we must take him out and dry him,” Brother Rianus said, “for it would be a shame to heal him only to have him catch cold.”

Brother Athanius took hold of Anthony's shoulders while Brother Rianus took his legs. Balkis turned resolutely away, but couldn't help another anxious glance back, aching to see if Anthony was truly healed. The monks heaved, dragged, and managed to lower Anthony to the ground. Each of the hermits produced a length of soft cloth from his sleeve.

Anthony's body was smooth and unmarked by any scar. Balkis' heart swelled with gratitude to the hermits. For a few minutes she drank in the sight of Anthony's body, whole and glowing with health again as the hermits rubbed his bulging muscles. Then the warmth inside her increased to the point where she looked away blushing again—but the feeling would not stop, only intensified into a fluttery feeling in her stomach, one that spread both upward and downward until she could no longer deny that she was in heat, or the human equivalent—and rather intensely, too, though not so badly as she would have been in cat form. This was quite different from her few early experiences with the feline version of the sensation, though, for beneath it, above it, and throughout it was an intoxicating soaring of the heart that cats never felt. She trembled within as she acknowledged to herself that the sidi-cus had been right—she was in love.

The bird saw the difference in her as the three humans carried the reclothed fourth to the grove and the shelter of the cottage. “How now, maiden?” it teased. “Have you fallen so forcefully that you can no longer deny it?”

Balkis blushed furiously. “Be still, foolish bird! Remember the roasting pan!”

“How could I forget, when you are yourself so clearly roasting in your own broth?” the bird carped.

“Holy man, what day is it?” Balkis asked.

“Why, the sixth day of the week, good maiden.”

“Not so good as she thought herself,” the sidicus said, “though I'll wager her young man thinks her even better.”

“Rejoice that it is Friday, foul fowl, for I cannot eat meat!”

“No matter how it tempts you? And I see a hunk of meat that tempts you indeed; 'tis well you dressed it.”

“People are not the only creatures who may be adorned with dressing!”

“Come, foolish lass! If love is a virtue, sure 'tis a vice to deny it.”

“Deny it I will, to you and to everyone who may hear!” But with a sinking heart Balkis noticed the two hermits exchanging a glance of gentle amusement and admitted that she could no longer deny it to herself. She was not only in love, but had been for weeks, though it had taken a lion and a healing bath to make her realize it.

What was she to do now? What was a girl to do with a love that was so great it made her tremble, especially if she did not know whether or not the boy loved her in return? She was sorely tempted to return to cat shape, in which form the anti-heat spell cast by her teacher Idris would have protected her. It would have had the additional benefit of making the sidicus a bit more respectful and, hopefully, less talkative—but she didn't think the old men would approve.

Brother Athanius noticed her embarrassment and said gently, “Let the sidicus not twit you.”

“He is all a-twitter anyway,” Balkis said darkly.

“Twitter yourself!” the sidicus returned. “You must deal honestly someday, maiden!”

“Speak sense, bird,” Athanius said, still smiling.

“Why should I?” the sidicus returned. “Where has it gotten
you?
”

“Why,” said the hermit, “it allows me to see things in their true forms.”

Nervously, Balkis wondered if Athanius could suspect her ability to change shape—then wondered which was her true form, woman or cat.

Ridiculous! She had been born a woman and would always be one in truth! Besides, a cat could not know the sort of love she was now feeling.

That brought her up short. Was that what he had meant by recognizing true forms? If so, it would do no good to transform herself into a cat—it would not protect her from love, only allow her to avoid it. Besides, she couldn't stay in cat form forever without explaining to Anthony, and she might as well do that right away and get it over with—though she did wonder if he would react like a tomcat. Worse, she wasn't entirely sure she didn't want him to—though with a bit more gentleness.

The hermits laid Anthony in a spare bed as the sun set. Brother Athanius sad, “We have a hut for female guests, maiden, only a few yards from the cottage.”

“Thank you,” Balkis said, “but by your leave, I will sit by his bed until I can fend off sleep no longer.”

“As you wish—but when you find yourself beginning to nod, do go to the guest house; you will find a bed with clean linen, though it may not be of the softest.”

“I have slept on hard ground more nights than not in these last few months, holy one,” Balkis said. “Your guest house will be a delight to me.”

“Good night to you, then.” Brother Athanius set a stool by the bed. “You need not trouble yourself, though. He will sleep blissfully, and wake in the morning feeling a new man.”

Balkis wanted the old man, not a new, but she understood what the hermit meant. “It is myself I wish to reassure, holy sir. I know it is foolish, but I feared so for his life that I have need to gaze upon him well.”

“There is sense in that, though it is sense of the heart and
not the head,” the hermit said. “Good night to you, then, maiden.” He went out of the room and closed the door.

Balkis sat by the bed for an hour or so—not really to be sure Anthony was well, but to feast her eyes on the sight of him while she could, without worry that he might wake and see the glow in her eyes. The old man had spoken truly, though— in less than an hour her eyelids grew heavy, then her head fell forward with a jolt that woke her from a doze. With a smile of self-mockery, she rose, then bent to kiss Anthony on the lips, long and lingeringly, and whispered, “I might not do that while you were awake, my lad, so I shall do it now while I can.” Then she straightened, went out of the room, and found the guest house.

It had been long since Balkis slept in a bed, and the previous day had been exhausting, so she slept a sleep that was dreamless—blessedly so, considering her state of mind. The sunlight woke her, however, and she stretched like a cat, delighting in the feeling of well-being. She lay still a moment, gazing out the window at the sun-flooded grassland and the boulder in its midst while the events of the previous day came once again to the surface of her mind, and with them a decision that she hadn't known she had made:

Today she would tell Anthony that she was in love with him.

If he wasn't in love with her, of course, telling might frighten him or disgust him, in which case she would have to travel on alone, though she would find it difficult to do so and still keep an eye on him to make sure he didn't fall prey to any of the dangers of these strange exotic lands—but she felt she had to take the chance and tell him. She had denied it too long, and now that she had acknowledged it, thanks to the sidicus and the healing bath, she couldn't keep it hidden any longer. No, she would tell Anthony and take whatever consequences came.

The decision made and acknowledged, Balkis rose, feeling lightened, freed, and went out to greet the day with a song on her lips. She made her ablutions, then went to the little side door of the cottage to look in on the invalid.

She was overcome with a strange timidity then, and knocked very lightly—but a few seconds later the door swung open,
and Anthony stood before her, bare-chested as she had left him, hair still tousled, face still flushed with sleep. He smiled at her with such delight that it raised the strange fluttering warmth within her again, and overcome with a sudden shyness, she lowered her gaze. “Good morning, sir,” she said.

“Good morning, lady,” he replied with equal gravity. Alarmed at his formality, she looked up, saw the twinkle in his eye and the smile on his lips, and reassured, managed a smile of her own.

“Your pardon,” Anthony said. “I should not greet a lady when I am half undressed.” He went back into the room and pulled his tunic on, then came out and offered Balkis his arm. “Let us walk while the morning is cool and fragrant.”

“Yes, let us.” She linked her hand through his elbow and strolled in the sunlight with him. Both of them were silent for a few minutes, and she realized that the moment was ideal to tell him her feelings—but that odd shyness swept over her again, and she lowered her gaze, overcome with modesty. “Do you remember anything of yesterday?”

“I remember walking through a woodland with you.” Anthony frowned, trying to bring the events to mind. “We came to a clearing—why, we saw a unicorn! No, three of them!” He turned to her, eyes alight with wonder and delight. “How strange and wonderful a world it is, to hold such enchanting and beautiful creatures!”

His eyes said that the unicorn was not the only enchanting and beautiful creature, which roused the strange fluttering in Balkis again, and she dropped her gaze once more. “Do you… remember anything else?”

Anthony gazed off into the distance, frowning, trying to concentrate. “I remember … lions! Yes, and the unicorns drove them away! Two went off into the woodland and the third lay down to sleep beneath a big tree!”

“Better and better.” She glanced up at him. “What more?”

Anthony frowned, wracking his brain, then gave it up and shook his head. “Birdsong, sunrise through the window of a strange room, then a knock at the door, and yourself, brighter than any dawn.”

Balkis caught her breath at the compliment, especially since
it was given as a matter of fact, as plain and undeniable as the sunrise or the birds' music—but shyness overcame her again and the words of love froze on her lips.

“What happened in between?” Anthony asked.

“You… the lions came back—one of them, at least—and tricked the unicorn into burying its horn so deeply in the trunk of the tree that it was defenseless. I changed into a cat to try to reason with the lion in its own tongue, but it struck me aside, and you came running to pick me up with courage that shocked me, for the beast struck you down.”

“Did it really?” Anthony stared at her. “That does not sound like me, the least brave of my family!”

Anger at the brothers who had mistreated Anthony rose to give Balkis more boldness. “Whoever told you that was clearly wrong. I saw it myself. You are a very brave man, Anthony, so brave as to be foolhardy.”

Anthony turned away in confusion. “But I rarely fought for my own pride, and that only when they pushed me past bearing!”

“For yourself, perhaps,” Balkis said, feeling the warmth kindle at her core again, “but for others you are quick to defend. Be sure—you did indeed fight to save the unicorn, though it did you little good.”

“Then why am I still alive?” Anthony asked, confounded.

Balkis tried not to make it an accusation, but it came out so anyway. “You still have a few nuggets of gold from the valley of the ants, have you not?”

Anthony flushed and said, “You have caught me. I fear I cannot wholly contain my greed.” Then he remembered the topic at hand and turned to her, puzzled. “What has ants' gold to do with a man-eating lion?”

“It seems one ant followed you—or should I say, followed its gold,” Balkis explained. “It caught up just as the lion was about to devour you—” She broke off and turned away, tears flooding her eyes. “I tried to craft a spell to save you, but it happened too quickly, and I could not think of a final rhyme!”

His arm came around her shoulders, his muscular chest pressed against her cheek, his voice soothing. “I am sure that you did, and would have triumphed to save me even if it
meant forcing the beast to disgorge me. Did the ant save you the trouble somehow?”

“It was a match for the lion.” Balkis shuddered, remembering. “I am amazed that anything so small could be so strong—and deadly. It slew the lion even as the lion slew it.”

“Heaven cares for fools and madmen,” Anthony said softly, “and I thank Heaven, for I was both. How is it that I live, though?”

Balkis started to answer, then caught herself, overcome with shyness—and with misgivings, for she did not want Anthony to love her simply out of gratitude, and certainly not from a sense of duty.

Brother Rianus saved her. He came up to them, smiling and cherubic. “Good morning, young folk!”

“Good morning, good sir,” Anthony said, puzzled that the old man seemed to know them, but unfailingly polite.

“Good morning, Brother Rianus.” Balkis gave him a smile of thanks and relief. “Anthony, this is one of the two saintly men who healed you.”

“Healed me?” Anthony stared at Brother Rianus. “You are? A thousand thanks, good sir!”

“You are welcome thrice over,” said Brother Rianus.

“But how could you cure me of a lion's wounds in one single night?” Anthony asked, bewildered.

“In less time than that, young man—indeed, less than an hour.” Brother Rianus turned and pointed outside the grove to the huge boulder. “Do you see that rock?”

Anthony looked where he indicated. “I do, reverend sir.”

“It is a thing of incredible medical virtue,” Brother Rianus said. “There is in that stone a cavity in the shape of a mussel, in which the water is always four inches deep. If any Christians desire the healing of the entire body, they lay aside their clothes and get into the shell; then if their faith is sincere, the water begins to increase and rise over their heads; when this has taken place three times, the water returns to its usual height. Thus everyone who enters leaves it cured of whatsoever infirmity he had, and thus your wounds were healed.”

“It is a miracle!” Anthony gasped. “I can only offer you my thanks, good sir.”

“Offer them to God, young man, for it is God who healed you.” Brother Rianus glanced at Balkis and smiled. “Though you might spare some thanks also for the maiden who brought you to us, and the bird who led her.”

Anthony stared at Balkis in amazement. She said defensively, “Well, I could not leave you to die.”