The Feline Wizard

by Christopher Stasheff

  “Have our sisters made you comfortable?” Adonitay asked.

  “Uh, maybe a bit too comfortable,” Matt said, but gave her a smile to soften it. Unfortunately, the smile felt mechanical.

  Adonitay elbowed her way through to the tub and took the washcloth; the junior woman surrendered it reluctantly. Adonitay suggested, “Lift your legs, then, that we may wash them.”

  Warily, Matt lifted a leg, which drew another spate of murmured, excited discussion about his musculature, shape, and the aesthetic appeal of body hair. The washcloths worked over his toes, feet, ankles, shins, calves, knees, tickling, extremely enjoyable, and he could feet the submerged parts of his body reacting. When the cloths went underwater and worked their way up his thighs, though, he said, “Uh, that's far enough, thanks. I can wash the rest on my own.”

  “But we are quite willing to do it for you,” Adonitay purred.

  “Thanks, but I'm big on self-reliance.” Matt took the washcloth and finished up. “If you'll turn your backs now, I'll hop out.”

  “Oh, but take another dram first,” the cup-bearer urged, and pressed the glass to his lips—refilled, Matt noticed.

  He drank half of it to be nice—against his better judgment— then said, “Just avert your gaze, okay?”

  “As you wish,” Adonitay sighed, and all the women turned their heads away, except one, who stood up, holding a huge towel high enough to hide her eyes.

  Matt surged up from of the water, stepped out, and into the towel—but not quickly enough to keep a dozen women from peeking. They gave throaty chuckles and whispered to each other, and Mart's face flamed as he clutched the towel around him. He started to dry himself off, but soft towels touched his back and shoulders, and throaty voices murmured, “Let us attend you, brave traveler.”

  That part he could deal with—it was the towels rubbing softly around his ankles that worried him. “Uh, thanks, girls, but I think I'll just wrap myself in a sarong and air-dry.”

  He managed to swing the towel horizontal and wrap it without any more overexposure, but Adonitay, still kneeling, pouted and looked up at him through her lashes, saying, “Why do you spurn us, Matthew? It is the law of the Grand Feminie that any man bold enough to come among us may amuse himself in any way he wishes, as much and as often as he wishes. Indeed, if he does not, there will be no more warrior women born. Let us please you in any and every way.”

  “Uh, thank you very much,” Matt said, “but I wasn't aware of your law, and it wasn't what I had in mind when I accepted your hospitality.”

  “But why not?” Adonitay looked up at him, genuinely puzzled, as were most of them—though a few appeared angry. “Do you find us plain and undesirable? Or is it perhaps because you feel at too much a disadvantage when you are naked and we are clothed? If so, let us be equal!” She pulled her tunic free of her shoulders.

  Matt gasped at the sight. “Be-Believe me, it certainly isn't a matter of your being undesirable! You're all very attractive, very!”

  “I had thought you found us thus.” Adonitay reached out to caress high on his thigh. “Since it is obvious that you find us so, why do you hesitate?”

  Matt looked down at her, and an irrelevant thought strayed thought his mind—that military training sure gave a woman excellent pectoral development. His own sweet warrior queen was similarly endowed; he had always suspected the same reason, and it was nice to have the thought confirmed.

  Thinking of Alisande saved him. The arousal was still there, the stimulation still made him tremble, but it was now directed toward another woman, one who wasn't there. “I hesitate because I am married, fair hostess—very much married. But fidelity to a spouse isn't a matter of love and commitment magically making a man immune to the charms of all other women. There's a small matter of willpower involved, too. A husband can see beauty about him and respond to it, but still wish to be faithful to his wife.”

  Adonitay gazed at him unblinking for several seconds, while earnest discussion whispered around them, punctuated with muttered oaths of anger and groans of frustration.

  Then Adonitay pulled her garment back onto her shoulders and rose, her face a mask. “I understand, and applaud your decision. We are warriors and prize fidelity in all its forms— fidelity, and honor. We have heard of marriage many times, though mostly through husbands who come to break their vows among us. It is very rare that we meet one who cleaves unto his wife in spite of all our charms.”

  Matt felt guilty, somehow. “I don't suppose you get very many men stumbling into your kingdom by accident.”

  “Very few indeed,” Adonitay said with a sardonic grimace. “It is simply our very bad luck to encounter two in one week.”

  “Two?” Matt said, then remembered their earlier conversation. “Of course—the young man who didn't appreciate his good fortune.”

  “Nor do you,” Adonitay said sourly.

  “I'm afraid not,” Matt said. “Sorry to be such a poor sport about the whole thing.”

  “I have a notion you would be excellent in sport, if you allowed yourself to be so treacherous,” Adonitay said with a glint in her eye. “Nay, good traveler, go your ways back to your wife, and give her our congratulations, for she has a husband who is a jewel among men. Few indeed can withstand the blandishments of the Grand Feminie. Be sure that no woman among us who wishes a babe and has proved herself worthy to bear one has ever had to wait long.” She glanced around at the thunderous-looking assemblage. “Though it seems that these shall have to wait awhile longer.” She turned back to Matt. “Go your way, and if it takes you a month and more to cross our land, have no fear. You shall travel under a safe-conduct, for we must reward those few men who know how to keep faith.”

  Balkis walked beside Anthony in silence and confusion, deliberately fanning the coals of her anger, small though they might be. They were there at all only because Anthony, walking beside her in equal silence, had a faraway gaze and dazed expression that told her only too well how thoroughly he had been tempted, and how his body had longed to give in.

  However, it also told her how strong an act of will it had taken to refuse.

  Of course, if he had never lain with a woman before, as the soldiers had said, there would have been some fear of the unknown to help him refuse. Surely it had been fear that made him shun the hungry warrior-women! Balkis thought. Surely his heart could not have become so deeply embroiled with her as to refuse such an opportunity!

  Thus she fanned the flames of anger and tried hard to ignore the clear facts as the soldiers had told them—that Anthony was in love with her, so much so that he had refused to commit an action that would have hurt her deeply.

  Or would have hurt her if she were in love with him, she qualified. But surely she had given him no reason to think so! Surely she was not! He was only a country bumpkin, after all, a rude and naive peasant who would be completely lost amid the alleys of Maracanda and the intricacies of Prester John's court!

  She had to admit, however, that here in this distant land he was more knowledgeable than she, and just as capable. If she had the experience of traveling, he had some knowledge of desert travel and the places they would encounter, from his talk with the caravan drivers. And he was quite handsome. This thought slipped into her mind by itself. Indeed, she did not have to work at remembering the strange glow that the first sight of him had kindled in her, the rush of blood that had pounded through her veins. Rather, she had to work at forgetting it, for it was all too familiar, a mild version of the few times she had been in cat form when she had gone into heat. Unfortunately, the sight of him still aroused the same emotion; even remembering it made her pulse quicken and her breath shorten.

  Again she used the energy to fuel her anger—how dare he so much as look at another woman with lust! How dare he gaze upon a naked female body—never mind that he had been given no choice. Worse, how dare he respond to the sight, even though he refused it! How dare he have longed to accept!

  She had not, of course, given
him any hope of such reward herself, nor would she—but that was beside the point. If he were in love with her, any other woman would have left him completely unaffected.

  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 inbor
n 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:

  “To the King of Birds now flee!

  Your queen attend upon the wing!

  Flock around your royalty…”

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