In spite of himself, Matt backed away a step or two. “Well, then, why didn't you do something about it?” His eyes widened as he remembered the thrust of Dimetrolas' comments. “No. She was basically saying that you should forget it and suffer if you weren't willing to stay for life, wasn't she?”
“Indeed,” Stegoman rejoined, “and in all good conscience, I could not pretend that I might.”
Matt studied his friend closely. “You could come back, though. When we've found Balkis and retrieved her, you could come back and stay awhile.”
Stegoman shook out his wings in irritation. “Could I? What have I to offer a female? I, who have no home and no friends of my own kind, who have been outcast by my own clan and was so long in exile that I cannot stay long in the mountains where I was born for the feeling of strangeness there! What tribe, what house, what people could I give? I have nothing to offer but wandering and loneliness, and estrangement from my own kind!”
Matt gazed at his friend, feeling his heart twist with remembered pain of his own. At last he said, “You could offer a strong male dragon in his prime whose loyalty is proven to border on the fanatical.”
“Aye,” Stegoman said with a sardonic grimace, “one—and that is not enough for a female. Perhaps there are some such among your kind, Matthew, but female dragons wish to lay eggs and see them hatch, to nurture them and teach them and watch them grow and know them as friends in maturity. That takes other females for company, males to ward them while they lay and brood, a whole clan to ward the hatchlings and shield them from loneliness. No, Matthew, I have nothing to offer, and must not therefore speak with more than civility!” With that, he leaped into the air and dove over the sawtoothed rim of the little plateau. Matt heard the boom of his wings opening, then watched him rise and arrow off toward the north, seeking supper and solace for the wound in his soul that Dimetrolas had unwittingly reopened. He gazed after Stegoman until he saw the dragon, small in the distance, half fold his wings and plunge from the sky. Then Matt turned away to his own campfire to rack his brains for a way to help his friend.
Balkis woke at the sound of cows mooing below her and of a voice answering. She shrank farther into the hay, heart pounding with alarm. Her fur bristled and her claws sprang out. Then the fear lessened, for the voice was a resonant, friendly baritone, addressing the cows fondly. “There now, there's hay for you, Bossy, and for you, Dapple. Come now, Blossom, you'll not have apples again till fall, so you had better eat your fodder!”
Balkis found herself wondering if people called cows by the same names the world over, changing only the language.
A cow lowed with a note of urgency.
“Yes, I know, Sunshine, I know,” the voice crooned. “Your udder's so full it hurts, I know, and I shall milk you first, but you must have feed to munch while I do. There now, all, eat and be still while I milk.”
The cows quieted. So did Balkis; her fear shrank to wariness, and her claws hid themselves in her fur again. She heard the clatter of a stool and bucket being set while the voice said soothingly, “There now, I'll be gentle with the washing, so swollen is your udder! But you'll feel better quickly, be sure ofit.”
Then there came the hiss of milk shooting into the bucket. The warm, appetizing aroma drifted upward into Balkis' nostrils, making her mouth water even though she wasn't particularly hungry. She remembered the brownies' caution, though, and stayed hidden. However, cats and curiosity have a long relationship, so she did burrow down, hunt out a knothole, and peek.
She caught her breath.
Golden hair, regular features, large blue eyes, broad mouth and broader shoulders—it was a young man in his early twenties, easily the most handsome Balkis had ever seen, and a strange warmth began to spread within her. A cow lowed impatiently, and the young man turned to say, “Yes, I know, I know—as soon as you see Sunshine being milked, you become aware of your own need. Patience, sweet cow—I shall tend to you soon.”
Balkis found herself wishing that he would tend to her instead, and beneath her fur felt her face grow warm. He was so gentle, so cheerful! How could this be the rough, coarse boy against whom the wee folk had warned her?
“He is the best of them.”
Balkis looked up, startled to hear a voice resonating so closely with her thoughts. It was Lichi who knelt by her.
“He is the youngest,” the brownie explained. “The others are quick to put him in his place at every opportunity, and none too gently, either. Nonetheless, he manages to stay cheerful in spite of all temptation to anger and bitterness. They call him…”
The sound of the name was quite foreign, but Balkis recognized it as a version of “Anthony.” She crouched by the knothole, staring down in fascination as the young man went from one cow to another.
“Mark well the spots where the milk spills,” Lichi advised, “though I fear most of it will have soaked into the earth before you come.”
The milk was the farthest thing from Balkis' thoughts at the moment, though she had to admit that it smelled heavenly.
Anthony was just finishing the last cow when the barn door crashed open and a voice called, “What, sluggard! Are you not done yet? Cease babying those cattle and turn them out to pasture!”
“Yank their teats harder and faster and be done with itV another harsh voice snapped. “Come on, little fool, turn them out!”
Two young men stepped into sight, muscular under their heavy tunics, heavy-jawed and dark-browed. One had red hair, the other brown.
“Gently, brothers, gently.” Anthony's voice took on an ingratiating tone with the ease of long practice. “I am almost done with her, take the other three, if you wish.”
Balkis glared at the intruders with indignation. Why should Anthony toady to these swaggerers? Surely not merely because he was the youngest!
“If we wish!” A fourth brother shouldered his way between the other two, just as big, even heavier, dark-haired. “Be sure that we wish it! Be done with that cow now”
“You cannot hurry the milk, Baradur ” Anthony's voice stilt had the conciliatory note, but not the slightest trace of fear.
Baradur's face darkened with anger. “I can hurry it! One side, brat!” He shoved Anthony off the milking stool far harder than he needed and sat down to finish the milking himself. The cow let out a bellow of surprise and pain, but the milk hissed faster. Anthony picked himself up with a look of resignation, and the next brother gave him a shove as he passed. “Work, lazybones! Loose these other three and take them out!” He didn't wait for Anthony to comply with his order but started untying Blossom himself.
“As you say, Kemal,” Anthony sighed. He turned to untie Sunshine, but the third brother elbowed him out of the way. “Can you not loosen a rope, fumblefingers? Go muck out the stalls, as befits you!”
Indignation turned to anger, and Balkis found herself thinking, Stand up for yourself! Tell him to mind his tongue!
For a moment she thought she must have spoken aloud, for Anthony flushed as he turned away to take up a shovel— only he took up two and tossed the second to the redhead. “Shovel yourself, Philip, and let us see who clears his floor more quickly!”
Philip turned back in time to knock the shovel out of the way with a smile, eyes glinting. “Do you dare tell me what to do, mucksweeper? I shall remind you of your place!”
His fists came up, and the other brothers turned from their work, grinning and stepping in.
Balkis' stomach sank as she realized the nature of the game, and a very nasty one it was—for the older brothers to goad Anthony into talking back, no matter how slightly, whereupon they felt they had the right to slap him down—and slap they did.
Philip struck first, his fist driving at Anthony's belly. Anthony blocked the blow but didn't return it. Even so, Kemal cried, “Oho! The child thinks to strike at his elders!” and stepped in with a roundhouse swing.
Anthony ducked under it, but Baradur caught his shoulder and spun him around, shoving him hard. Anthony staggere
d back; Philip caught him and held him while Baradur slammed a blow at his chin. Anthony jerked his head aside and the blow landed on Philip's shoulder. The redhead shouted in anger and shoved Anthony far enough away to swing at him with a short, vicious jab. It caught the youngest under the ribs as he was turning; he bent over, gasping. Kemal laughed and swung a blow at his head, but Anthony managed to straighten up, and the punch caught him in the chest. He stumbled back, and Baradur caught him, turned him around, and swung a blow at his chin. Somehow it landed on his shoulder, though. Anthony staggered back, tripped, and fell to the floor.
The barn resounded with the older brothers' laughter. They untied the cows and drove them out, calling, “Clean yourself off, Anthony!”
“You can join us when you've finished mucking out, Anthony.”
“Aye, but stand downwind when you come!”
Balkis' anger mounted as she realized the rules of the very unfair game—that Anthony was not allowed to fight back, but it was all right for him to avoid the blows if he could. Balkis felt certain he had faked some of those staggerings so his brothers would feel satisfied enough to leave him alone. As Lichi had said, they were rough and coarse, and Balkis suspected their father was very much like his sons—more, in fact, for they had probably learned their bullying ways by imitating him. At the very least, he had condoned it. All in all, a thoroughly unpleasant family.
With one exception.
* * *
Balkis stayed hidden for a week, gradually regaining her strength through spilled milk and the brownies' petting. By day the barn was all hers to hunt mice and, as she grew stronger, rats. At night the cows, sheep, goats, and pigs kept the barn warm. At sunrise and sunset, though, the brothers and their father drove the livestock in to feed and milk.
The father was the prototype of his sons, though not quite so tall—a redheaded, red-bearded block of muscle. He had grown heavier with age, putting on some fat, especially in the belly. His hair and beard were streaked with gray, and he bellowed his orders in a gravelly voice. If the older brothers joined in criticizing Anthony or bossing him about, their father was sure to support them; as far as he was concerned, there was a chain of command based on age, with himself at the top and Anthony at the bottom.
So when they had finished driving the cows home for the night, it was always Anthony who did the mucking out, apparently doomed to it for life by virtue of being born last. He did the milking, too—in spite of their endless directions about how to do it right, none of the brothers seemed to want such women's work. They preferred to spend their time bullying the animals and repairing the farmstead and fences. Anthony had his share of the chill outdoor work, too, of course.
At night, though, the cold clamped down around the farm. The animals stayed inside, and so, Balkis assumed, did the men. Assuming wasn't enough for her, of course—she was very curious, wanting to see how they fared inside the farmhouse.
That, though, would have to wait for greater energy, and a thaw. Still, by the end of the week she had recovered enough to risk making Anthony's acquaintance—and a risk it was. She was aware that the young man might be passive only because he had no chance of beating his brothers, but that with someone weaker, he might turn out to be as great a bully as any of them. So she waited until she had recovered enough to be sure she could outrun and outclimb him. Then, one evening when the brothers were done driving the livestock in for the night and feeding them, and had left Anthony to his milking with jeers and threats, she plucked up her courage.
As soon as the door closed behind them, a smile of contentment brightened Anthony's face. He began to sing a soft and lilting tune as he milked, and Balkis understood why he was willing to accept the chore—it gave him a few precious minutes alone, away from his brothers' badgering and tormenting.
Balkis almost hated to interrupt such serenity. Nonetheless, she took her chance, climbing down the back wall and threading her way between hooves and heaps of straw. Then, stepping out around a timber, she mewed plaintively.
Anthony looked up in surprise, and his face lit up. “A cat!”
Balkis braced herself for the grasping hand, the tormenting yank on the tail, tensed to rake with claws, to bite and twist and run.
Anthony only held out his hand very slowly and waited.
Balkis' opinion of him soared—here was a man who knew how to make friends with animals! She stepped forward and sniffed his fingers. It was a pleasant smell, warm with the musk of the cow's udder and the scent of milk, but with a masculine aroma beneath that made something quiver inside her. She butted her head against his hand. With a gentle, joyful laugh, he rubbed the top of her head very gently, then went on to massage an ear, asking, “Who are you, kit? How did you come here?”
Balkis decided a change of subject was vital and meowed again, her tone moving from plaintive to demanding.
Anthony laughed with gentle amusement. “Hungry, are you? Well, I think Sunshine can spare a drop or two. Can't you, old girl?” He slapped the cow's side, and Sunshine turned her head as much as her head-ropes would allow, mooing. Then, seeing Balkis, she lowed as though to say, Oh, it's only her. Why didn 'tyou say so?
“You see? Sunshine is quite generous.” Anthony turned a teat and aimed a squirt of milk right over Balkis' head.
Surprised, she ducked. Anthony rebuked her gently. “You must not waste, you know—and you don't want to have to lap your milk off this dirty floor, do you? Come, stand up and catch it in your mouth.”
What would he have said if he'd known she had been drinking off that floor all week? she wondered. Still, Balkis could see his heart was in the right place, and she had drunk from a wineskin often enough. She crouched to show she was ready.
Anthony laughed low with delight, aimed, and let squirt. Balkis sprang up on her hind legs and caught the stream full in her mouth. It stopped, and she dropped down to all fours again, licking her chops.
“Another?” Anthony asked.
Balkis crouched.
Anthony let out a squirt again, making it last as long as Balkis could stand on her hind legs. When she dropped down, licking the last drops off her whiskers, Anthony said, “That should keep you from starving, at least. I've work to do, though. Come close if you wish, but I must be about my milking.”
He turned back to his work, but Balkis wasn't willing to surrender his attention so quickly. She stepped up, rubbing against his ankle. “Good cat!” he said, and reached down to stroke her.
Now, that was something entirely different from a little rub between the ears. His hand caressed the length of her back, arousing an intensity of sensation that alarmed her. She shivered with pleasure from nose to tail-tip. He stroked again, and she felt a flush of warmth welling up from the core of her being and spreading through her whole body. In spite of herself, she closed her eyes to concentrate on the pure delight of his touch, and was surprised to realize she was purring. He stroked again and again, and she stood shivering as a vagrant thought drifted into her mind—how would she have reacted to that touch if she had been in human form?
At that, her eyes flew open in alarm—but still she stood quivering, frozen in place by pure pleasure. Anthony stroked again, and her feelings intensified so much that she knew she had gone into heat. In panic, she flowed out from under Anthony's hand and sat down beyond his reach, shuddering with fright but too fascinated to run.
Anthony chuckled. “Had enough, then? Well, come back if you want more. Cats need homes and petting as much as they need milk to keep them from going wild.”
Balkis thought that sort of petting was more likely to make her go wild. Still, she watched Anthony as he turned back to his work. Gradually, her breathing calmed and her feelings ebbed, leaving her to wonder if she'd really been in heat at all—from what she had seen of cats in that state, it lasted a week or more, or until some tom made it vanish but left the puss pregnant. Then Balkis began to wonder again what kind of sensations she would have felt if Anthony had petted her in her human form. T
he thought aroused such intense feelings that she ducked away into the darkness to let the panic subside.
From that day on, though, Balkis came out whenever Anthony was alone in the barn, telling herself that with time his touch would cease to be so inflaming. Anthony assumed she came for milk and always gave her a squirt or two, then petted her until she took fright again and retreated. She kept waiting for his touch to cease arousing the wonderful shivering, but it didn't. Still, she watched him as long as he was in the barn, for even the sight of him roused pleasant feelings now— pleasant, but much less alarming than his petting.
For his part, Anthony took to this new friend immediately. He named her Kit and treated her with kindness and affection, bringing her table scraps and as much petting as she would take. He even dangled a string for her to play with. She thought it was silly but found some strange fascination in its twitching and pounced on it anyway. He twitched it out of her claws and jiggled it again. She went along with it to make him happy, then realized she was actually enjoying the game—not for its own sake, but because it gave her a way to play with Anthony.
Spying through a knothole at life in the farmyard, Balkis saw that there was no one for him to talk to except his father and brothers, who didn't want to listen, scoffing at anything he said as the prattling of a fool. With a shock, she realized that, even though a mere cat, she was Anthony's only friend, and found herself wondering if he had ever had any other.
However, she was his secret friend, and had better sense than to run after him in the open, or when the others were about. She could easily imagine how Anthony's brothers would heap scorn on him if they knew he had a pet, or what they might do to any animal about which he cared.
* * *
At the end of the third week, Balkis could contain her curiosity no longer. One cold winter night, she decided to see what was happening in the farmhouse. She told herself that it wasn't a desire to see Anthony at home—it was because the cold pierced even into the barn, and the farmhouse looked so warm and welcoming. She followed the lee side of the barn, then a hedge, a tree, and another hedge, all on the downwind side to avoid the huge snowdrift on the windward side. Even so, the snow was up to her belly, and she moved by leaps, jumping her way to the farmhouse. It was an exhausting way to travel, but the warmth of the firelight shining through cracks in the shutters, and the sounds of laughter and singing in harmony, made her feel the trip had been worth it.
The Feline Wizard Page 7
