Anthony must have thought the same, for his eyes were wide and round as he called, “There is no danger, really. The ledge is six feet wide, and I feel no wind.” He turned and walked away.
Feeling foolish, Balkis sidled after him, keeping her back to the rock; she somehow felt as though, if she kept her eyes on the sheer drop before her, it could not claim her. It crossed her mind that this trip would be much safer as a cat, but she did not want to startle Panyat.
Anthony had spied his route well, though, and led them from one ledge to another, switching back and forth across the face of the cliff but always going farther and farther downward until at last they stepped onto level ground beside the pool into which the water thundered. Balkis stared upward for a long while, awed by the sight. Finally she looked down to ask Anthony if it was not indeed wonderful—and found him sitting on his heels by the bank, picking pebbles out of the gravel at the edge. Balkis sighed, not needing to ask—she knew the “pebbles” were uncut gems. She felt a touch of exasperation—did he not know that life and beauty were more important than wealth? Then she realized that she had lived in luxury for months, and tried to remember how she had felt as a peasant in the Dark Forest, newly orphaned and alone, and acknowledged that she would have been every bit as hungry for jewelry as he.
When Anthony rose, his belt-pouch bulged with gems. He turned to her with a grin and gestured toward the bank away from the cliffside. Balkis smiled and nodded—there was no point in trying to talk amidst this thundering. She walked with him away from the waterfall. Panyat fell in beside her.
Looking about her, Balkis saw high hills to either side, trees lining the edges of the valley floor, but broad meadows before them. The banks of the river were bright with glinting pebbles, many uncut gems and semiprecious stones. Anthony gazed at them with huge and hungry eyes, his face gaunt, but did not stop to gather any more. Balkis took his hand and pressed it for comfort, and as soon as the noise of the waterfall had faded enough to be heard, she said, “You are strong to resist the temptation to load yourself down with jewels.”
“That would be foolish indeed,” Anthony sighed. “If I could scarcely walk for their weight, I would never manage to bring them to market, and what worth would they be then?”
Balkis nodded, eyes bright with sympathy and pride. “They would be only gravel to harden a path against the rain.”
Anthony gave a bark of humorless laughter. “Imagine walking on a path strewn with jewels!” Then he frowned. “But that is what we did as we walked away from the waterfall, did we not?”
“We did,” Panyat told him, “so your gems could not be worth much here. This river is called the Physon, friends, and it is the broadest river that flows through Prester John's lands.”
Balkis looked at him in astonishment; she had heard people mention the Physon at court, had seen it from her window, for it was indeed the most important river in the land, carrying passengers and cargo from the borderland all the way to Maracanda—and rumored to have its origin in the fabled Garden of Eden. If it did, most of its course had to be underground, for as far as the waking world knew, it began in this valley.
Panyat stumbled, bumping into Balkis' thigh. She reached out to catch him instinctively, then noticed his paleness and the unsteadiness of his gait. “What ails you, Panyat?”
“Merely hunger,” the Pytanian said, his face gaunt. “I regret that I must leave you and go home, for I have only one apple left, and am feeling faint.”
“One?” Anthony's gaze went immediately to the Pytanian 's loincloth. “Balkis! His pouch is flat!”
“Nothing to trouble you,” Panyat insisted. “One apple will suffice…”
“One apple? You have lost all your apples in the rapids!” Balkis cried.
“Even so, that was only today.” Anthony knelt before his little friend with a frown. “You have been hiding this weakness for some time, have you not, Panyat?”
The Pytanian looked away.
“When did you lose the apple?” Balkis cried.
“In the rapids, as Anthony guessed,” Panyat protested.
“How long since you smelled of its aroma?” Anthony demanded.
“Since the desert,” Panyat admitted. “I feared we would not find food for you, and…” his voice trailed off.
“And you saved the apples, thinking to feed us if we found nothing!” Balkis cried, and hugged him. “Oh, bless you, best of friends! But we did find food, and now it is you who are like to die of hunger! Anthony, how can we feed him?”
“Leave me.” Panyat sank down to sit by the bank, his face gray. “There is no hope, for there are no apples. I do not wish you to see me die.”
“We cannot let a friend die alone,” Anthony said, tight-lipped.
“We cannot let a friend die at all!” Balkis cried. “Anthony, carry him! This river is still too turbulent to drink, but if we can take him to a spring, mayhap its moisture will revive him at least a little.”
“I… do not drink,” Panyat protested as Anthony picked him up.
The farmer glanced at Balkis and told Panyat, “Nevertheless, we shall do as Balkis recommends. If any can find you nourishment, it is she.” He gave her a severe look that as much as told her to work magic.
What spell could she do? Balkis wondered. Could she conjure up an apple tree? Well, she might at that—but surely Panyat would die before it could bud, flower, then bear fruit, even with magical speed.
“It can do no good,” Panyat protested, and his voice grew more and more feeble. “Save your strength… it is useless…”
“We have strength to spare, now that you have brought us to water, and a fruitful land where we may find food,” Anthony told him. “Be still and save your own vitality, Panyat. Trust our Balkis.”
Theirs? When had she become theirs? But Balkis silently acknowledged the truth of his words—she might not have belonged to them, but certainly belonged with them. She strode ahead, searching for some sign, some hint of a way to feed Panyat, trying to ignore the despair growing within her.
CHAPTER 21
To make it worse, the sunlight was fading. They were at the bottom of a valley, after all, and the sun had fallen behind the ridge to the west. If Balkis was going to find an apple tree, she would have to do it quickly.
Did apples even grow in this country?
Apples grow everywhere, she told herself, and shrugged off tendrils of despair. She cast about her, found a forked stick and picked it up by the branching twigs. It was four feet long, and she held the stem of the Y straight out before her.
“We seek apples, not water,” Anthony said with a frown.
“So you have heard of divining rods in your mountains,” Balkis said with absent interest, her mind on Panyat. “Know, then, that a wizard can make a rod seek whatever he asks, not water alone.” She stroked the branch with her right hand, crooning,
She broke off in frustration and cried, “Anthony, finish it!”
“Take us to the rosy fruit!” Anthony called.
The rod jerked sharply to the right.
“Well done, my lad!” Balkis cried. “Follow fast!”
Speed was needed, and fortunately speed they found. The forked stick guided Balkis by pressure first against one palm, then against the other—and in the last rays of sunset, brought them to an old, gnarled, withered tree with a few last wrinkled fruits still hanging on its boughs.