The Feline Wizard

CHAPTER 8

“Were you feeding her under the table?” the father demanded, his face darkening.

“And look!” cried Moti.” Tis a female! Anthony has found a girlfriend!”

“Aye, Anthony!” chorused Philip and Kemal, and Baradur demanded, “Shall you sleep with her, then?”

“Anthony the cat lover!” Kemal crowed, putting such a leer into the words that he gave them a double meaning.

“She will keep the rats from this house if you let her!” Anthony cried. “Let her go!” He leaped to catch Balkis from Moti's grip, but the lad pivoted, keeping Balkis from Anthony's reach, crowing, “Do you want her, then? Catch as cat can!” He tossed her to Baradur.

Balkis yowled as she flew and tried to turn in midair, but Baradur caught her by the tail. All her weight plunged against his hold, and the pain shot up her backbone. She caterwauled, spitting, front paws spread wide, claws out to catch. Baradur cried, “Ah, the clean-up boy has chosen a spitfire! Beware her claws, my lad!” Then he swung Balkis around his head. “Catch, Moti!”

Anthony barreled into him, knocking Baradur against the wall, and Balkis flew from his grip. She sprinted for the rathole, then dodged and twisted as feet slammed down in her way, hard hands grabbed for her, and hoarse voices shouted. But she made it through the rathole without worse scathe. A hand shot through to catch her tail, but she turned and bit, sinking her teeth into the soft flesh between thumb and forefinger. The hand disappeared like lightning and its owner shouted with pain. “The little bitch! See how she has bitten!”

He had mistaken both Balkis' nature and her species, but she didn't feel obligated to enlighten him, especially since none of the others seemed to think his hurt worth noticing. They were too busy with something else; she heard a great deal of shouting and the sound of blows. She dared a quick peek and saw a pile of fists driving down toward the center. As she watched, one of the brothers went sprawling away, to show her Anthony, face swollen with fury. He spun to lash three quick punches at Philip, who staggered back and fell, then lashed out at Kemal. But Baradur caught Anthony's arms from behind and, shouting triumph, bent him backward and off balance as Kemal began to pelt Anthony with short, vicious jabs.

The two younger brothers lay on the floor, clutching their heads, their moaning testimony to how well Anthony could fight when he was angry and feared for someone other than himself. Balkis looked about, unbelieving, wondering why the father did not stop the beating but only stood by and nodded with grim satisfaction. “You shall remember your place, Anthony,” he said, “and never lift a hand against any of your brothers again!” Then he turned to the two on the floor. “On your feet lads—you can't let mere pain keep you idle. Take your turns and your revenge, and teach your younger brother his place.”

Teach him again, Balkis thought wildly, and again and again and again. She wondered how often Anthony had endured this lesson, and marveled that he still had spirit.

The middle brothers staggered to their feet, faces angry and cruel, and stumbled forward for their revenge as Kemal ceased pummeling Anthony and backed away. But hard though they struck, as Baradur continued to hold them in aim, Anthony only grunted, not crying out with pain or pleas for mercy. That only seemed to anger the brothers further, for they struck and struck again in fury.

Balkis retired from the rathole shaking with fright and anger. No one would hear her speak—they were far too intent on their beating. She had better sense than to turn into a nubile young woman in the company of such brutes, but surely her magic could save her friend!

She ran dry. The rhyme wouldn't come. She searched frantically—she knew what she wanted to say, but she couldn't find the right combination of words, the imperative, the meter and the rhyme! And, of course, the harder she strove, the more her mind blocked. In despair, she searched among the verses she knew…

Too late. The beating was done, and the father held the door open while the brothers rushed Anthony through it and pitched him headlong into the snow. Then the father stepped full into the doorway, standing silhouetted against the light, and thundered, “Get you gone and sleep with wild beasts, where so rude a child belongs! Any boy who forgets his place so far as you have done does not deserve to sleep with his family!” He stepped back to slam the door.

Balkis couldn't believe her ears. Had the man no fear for his son, no care? Anthony was beaten and hurting, and could die for all he knew. Did he not love his son?

The answer came unbidden: of course he loved Anthony— but he loved his authority, too.

She dashed between the walls, frantic with fear for her friend. She squeezed between the boards to run cat-foot around the house to where Anthony lay groaning in the snow. Fear shot through her, for she saw the snow stained with blood by his mouth. How could his older siblings have been so villainous?

But as she crouched beside him, she felt helpless, at a loss. What could a cat do for a grown man?

She would have to become human again, of course. There was little enough to fear from his brothers—they were inside, crowing about their victory and laughing at one another's insults to Anthony—and toasting their success with ale, no doubt. Anger spurred Balkis, and the barnyard swam about her, everything becoming smaller as she grew into a woman. Then she was kneeling over an Anthony dramatically smaller than he had seemed. He was curled around the pain in his belly, groaning, and Balkis felt panic. Luckily the kidnapper had wrapped her in her own cloak when he stole her from the palace, and she whipped it off to drape around Anthony now. She shivered as the wind bit into her, but her gown was made of wool and would keep her long enough to reach the barn. “There, now,” she said, “that should keep you warm a little while. Come, rise, for I cannot carry you, and we must get you into the shelter of the barn as quickly as we can!”

Anthony looked up at the sound of a strange human voice— then, pain or not, he stiffened and caught his breath, staring at her.

In her mind, Balkis cursed impatiently. Was a woman so strange a sight as that?

Yes. To a boy raised with only a father and four brothers, she was a very strange sight indeed.

Well, he would have to get used to it. Balkis bent low, tucking the cape beneath him and lugging at him. “Come, on your feet! Surely they have not crippled you!”

But Anthony only stared at her, wide-eyed and awed, and asked, “Who… who are you?”

“My name is Balkis, and I am come to keep you from freezing to death! Will you not rise?”

This time, Anthony allowed himself to be chivied into standing, but as soon as he did, one knee buckled. Balkis stepped in so he leaned on her shoulder, and he was heavy, very heavy. He blinked, staring down at her, and there was still awe and reverence in his eyes as he asked, “How did you come here?”

“On my own four feet, of course,” Balkis snapped. Then honesty compelled her to add, “With some help from the Wee Folk, that is.”

“Wee Folk?” Anthony managed to lift his weight off her, his stare turning into superstitious fear. “But surely I would have seen you, surely one of us would have seen you!” Then he frowned. “But how can you have four feet?”

“When I turn into a cat,” Balkis said, exasperated, and pulled him toward the barn. “Come, if you can stand, surely you can walk.”

Anthony tried, but he stumbled, and she had to prop him up again. He stared at her in wonder. “Turn into a cat? No one can turn into a cat!”

“Oh, stand on your own two feet!” Balkis said.

He managed it, and she thought of his calf being at the height of her head, thought of the house as being a vast, towering structure, thought of the snow as brushing her belly—and sure enough, everything swelled into gigantic proportions as she felt her gown wrapping tightly about her, turning into fur.

Anthony cried out and stumbled away, then managed to stop, tottering.

Balkis turned back into a human faster than she ever had and ran to prop him up. “You helped me when I needed to recover,” she said, “helped me with friendship and sweet milk. Now let me return the favor. Come to the barn.”

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.