“Why are you surprised, my daughter?” Brother Athanius asked. “Thus everyone who enters the shell leaves it cured of whatsoever infirmity he had.”
“Now we must take him out and dry him,” Brother Rianus said, “for it would be a shame to heal him only to have him catch cold.”
Brother Athanius took hold of Anthony's shoulders while Brother Rianus took his legs. Balkis turned resolutely away, but couldn't help another anxious glance back, aching to see if Anthony was truly healed. The monks heaved, dragged, and managed to lower Anthony to the ground. Each of the hermits produced a length of soft cloth from his sleeve.
Anthony's body was smooth and unmarked by any scar. Balkis' heart swelled with gratitude to the hermits. For a few minutes she drank in the sight of Anthony's body, whole and glowing with health again as the hermits rubbed his bulging muscles. Then the warmth inside her increased to the point where she looked away blushing again—but the feeling would not stop, only intensified into a fluttery feeling in her stomach, one that spread both upward and downward until she could no longer deny that she was in heat, or the human equivalent—and rather intensely, too, though not so badly as she would have been in cat form. This was quite different from her few early experiences with the feline version of the sensation, though, for beneath it, above it, and throughout it was an intoxicating soaring of the heart that cats never felt. She trembled within as she acknowledged to herself that the sidi-cus had been right—she was in love.
The bird saw the difference in her as the three humans carried the reclothed fourth to the grove and the shelter of the cottage. “How now, maiden?” it teased. “Have you fallen so forcefully that you can no longer deny it?”
Balkis blushed furiously. “Be still, foolish bird! Remember the roasting pan!”
“How could I forget, when you are yourself so clearly roasting in your own broth?” the bird carped.
“Holy man, what day is it?” Balkis asked.
“Why, the sixth day of the week, good maiden.”
“Not so good as she thought herself,” the sidicus said, “though I'll wager her young man thinks her even better.”
“Rejoice that it is Friday, foul fowl, for I cannot eat meat!”
“No matter how it tempts you? And I see a hunk of meat that tempts you indeed; 'tis well you dressed it.”
“People are not the only creatures who may be adorned with dressing!”
“Come, foolish lass! If love is a virtue, sure 'tis a vice to deny it.”
“Deny it I will, to you and to everyone who may hear!” But with a sinking heart Balkis noticed the two hermits exchanging a glance of gentle amusement and admitted that she could no longer deny it to herself. She was not only in love, but had been for weeks, though it had taken a lion and a healing bath to make her realize it.
What was she to do now? What was a girl to do with a love that was so great it made her tremble, especially if she did not know whether or not the boy loved her in return? She was sorely tempted to return to cat shape, in which form the anti-heat spell cast by her teacher Idris would have protected her. It would have had the additional benefit of making the sidicus a bit more respectful and, hopefully, less talkative—but she didn't think the old men would approve.
Brother Athanius noticed her embarrassment and said gently, “Let the sidicus not twit you.”
“He is all a-twitter anyway,” Balkis said darkly.
“Twitter yourself!” the sidicus returned. “You must deal honestly someday, maiden!”
“Speak sense, bird,” Athanius said, still smiling.
“Why should I?” the sidicus returned. “Where has it gotten you?”
“Why,” said the hermit, “it allows me to see things in their true forms.”
Nervously, Balkis wondered if Athanius could suspect her ability to change shape—then wondered which was her true form, woman or cat.
Ridiculous! She had been born a woman and would always be one in truth! Besides, a cat could not know the sort of love she was now feeling.
That brought her up short. Was that what he had meant by recognizing true forms? If so, it would do no good to transform herself into a cat—it would not protect her from love, only allow her to avoid it. Besides, she couldn't stay in cat form forever without explaining to Anthony, and she might as well do that right away and get it over with—though she did wonder if he would react like a tomcat. Worse, she wasn't entirely sure she didn't want him to—though with a bit more gentleness.
The hermits laid Anthony in a spare bed as the sun set. Brother Athanius sad, “We have a hut for female guests, maiden, only a few yards from the cottage.”
“Thank you,” Balkis said, “but by your leave, I will sit by his bed until I can fend off sleep no longer.”
“As you wish—but when you find yourself beginning to nod, do go to the guest house; you will find a bed with clean linen, though it may not be of the softest.”
“I have slept on hard ground more nights than not in these last few months, holy one,” Balkis said. “Your guest house will be a delight to me.”
“Good night to you, then.” Brother Athanius set a stool by the bed. “You need not trouble yourself, though. He will sleep blissfully, and wake in the morning feeling a new man.”
Balkis wanted the old man, not a new, but she understood what the hermit meant. “It is myself I wish to reassure, holy sir. I know it is foolish, but I feared so for his life that I have need to gaze upon him well.”
“There is sense in that, though it is sense of the heart and not the head,” the hermit said. “Good night to you, then, maiden.” He went out of the room and closed the door.
Balkis sat by the bed for an hour or so—not really to be sure Anthony was well, but to feast her eyes on the sight of him while she could, without worry that he might wake and see the glow in her eyes. The old man had spoken truly, though— in less than an hour her eyelids grew heavy, then her head fell forward with a jolt that woke her from a doze. With a smile of self-mockery, she rose, then bent to kiss Anthony on the lips, long and lingeringly, and whispered, “I might not do that while you were awake, my lad, so I shall do it now while I can.” Then she straightened, went out of the room, and found the guest house.
It had been long since Balkis slept in a bed, and the previous day had been exhausting, so she slept a sleep that was dreamless—blessedly so, considering her state of mind. The sunlight woke her, however, and she stretched like a cat, delighting in the feeling of well-being. She lay still a moment, gazing out the window at the sun-flooded grassland and the boulder in its midst while the events of the previous day came once again to the surface of her mind, and with them a decision that she hadn't known she had made:
Today she would tell Anthony that she was in love with him.
If he wasn't in love with her, of course, telling might frighten him or disgust him, in which case she would have to travel on alone, though she would find it difficult to do so and still keep an eye on him to make sure he didn't fall prey to any of the dangers of these strange exotic lands—but she felt she had to take the chance and tell him. She had denied it too long, and now that she had acknowledged it, thanks to the sidicus and the healing bath, she couldn't keep it hidden any longer. No, she would tell Anthony and take whatever consequences came.
The decision made and acknowledged, Balkis rose, feeling lightened, freed, and went out to greet the day with a song on her lips. She made her ablutions, then went to the little side door of the cottage to look in on the invalid.