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.