At the center of the lines, the sage sat down on the ground and looked up at the antagonists. “Good day to you all, my friends.”
Muttered greetings from shamed faces answered him.
“You are well come, O Sage,” Shuba’s father said. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
“Why, to the Scarlet Company, my friend,” the sage said.
Gar stiffened so suddenly that Alea half expected him to break in two.
“When I came out to greet the sun,” the sage said, “there was a trouble sign scratched in the dust before my door and the character for your village next to it.”
“How did they know so quickly?” one man muttered. “They know everything, of course!” another man hissed. “Be still! I want to hear the sage!”
“What is the cause of the trouble?” the sage asked. Shuba’s father sat on his heels beside the man. “My son got Agneli with child—but she refused to bond, for she fell in love with another man who did not love her. The babe was born this night past and Agneli finally named the father, but Shuba refuses to acknowledge the child.”
“What he begot, he should husband!” Agneli’s father insisted, sitting beside the sage.
One by one, the men sat down in a circle. The women heaved sighs of relief.
“The custom is that the village rears a child whose mother breaks the bond with the father,” the sage said thoughtfully.
“That is so, O Sage,” Shuba said, “but I have not had the pleasure of living with Agneli for even one day!”
“You had the pleasure of sleeping with her for a night,” one of the other young men said darkly.
“I did not!” Shuba turned to him. “I lay with her for an hour, no more! She would not stay to fill my arms in the night or to greet the sun with me!”
The men all murmured together. “It is true what he says.”
“Aye—fornicating is only a part of the pleasure of lovemaking.”
“The smallest part, in some ways.”
“It is such great pleasure to wake and find the woman in your arms.”
Alea’s opinion of this culture’s men soared. She locked gazes with Gar, who was looking impressed, too. “And do you wish to deny yourself the pleasure of talking with the child when she is three?” the sage asked.
Shuba started to answer, then hesitated.
“When she is eight,” the sage asked, “will she come to show you the treasure of a nestling who has fallen? Or will she turn away from you as you now turn away from her?”
“I will not sleep in the same house as she,” Shuba protested, but his face already showed regret.
“That you will not,” the sage agreed, “but few of us can have everything we wish, or gain as much joy from it as we expect. It is better to take what happiness we can, to delight in the little pleasures of life while we wait for the greater.”
Shuba glanced at the baby with longing but still protested, “Even if I do not acknowledge her, I shall contribute to her rearing as much as any man in this village.”
“So you shall,” said the sage, “but no more. Why then should she bring you her joys and woes to share more than to any other man?”
Shuba bowed his head, scowling at the ground. All the men were silent.
“The true conflict, then, is between yourself and yourself,” the sage said gently. “Which do you wish more—the love of a child or vengeance for a slight?” Shuba still scowled.
“Men are born with empty hearts,” the sage said. “We fill them with love and joy, hate and pain, as we grow. The first pair makes the heart limber and light, the second makes it hard and heavy. Will you spend your life with a jewel in your chest, or a lump of lead?”
Slowly and reluctantly, Shuba lifted his head, then nodded. “The babe is mine.”
As they pulled on their packs, Alea said softly, “It seems there isn’t always a need for a judge and a court.”
“Isn’t there?” Gar looked her straight in the eye. “I thought I saw both back there.”
“I saw only a teacher guiding people in living,” Alea said sharply.
“Which is what a judge should perhaps be.”
“But rarely is! And what of his bailiffs, his guards? Where were they?”
“Ah—the police.” Gar nodded. “No one saw them, did they? But they were there nonetheless. Someone told the Scarlet Company, and they told the sage.”
“The Scarlet Company is a bailiff?”
“A sentry, at least,” Gar said.
Then they had to drop the issue because Shuba and his parents came up to them with half the village behind them. He held out cupped hands to Alea. “I thank you, lady, for the life of my child.”
Alea almost told him to thank Gar, too, but stopped herself just in time. “You are welcome, my friend. I share your joy.”
“May you always do so!” Shuba said. “To remind you of it, here is a gift of my own carving.”
He opened his hands, and Alea caught her breath in wonder. A small golden bird sat on his palm; its eyes were tiny rubies and its wings were edged in pure gems.
“I cannot accept so rich a gift for only a few hours’ labor,” she protested.
“For the life of my daughter, rather.” Shuba pressed it into her hands. “Take it, please, lady—and when you look upon it, breathe a small prayer for Agneli and myself.”
She looked into his eyes, saw the longing there, and realized that no matter whom Agneli fancied, Shuba still loved her. “I shall pray for you both,” she promised, “for all three.”
Now Shuba’s mother stepped up beside him. “Hide it well within your pack, lady, for General Malachi’s men still prowl the roads, and though they may call themselves soldiers, they are still every bit the bandits they were before his rise.”
“The sage told us that he has conquered yet another village,” one of the men said, frowning.
“So you know of this bandit captain,” Gar said in his rusty old voice.
“Know of him! I should say so!” said an old woman. “Why, the whole land between the big lake and the forest talks of nothing else!”
“Then you know he’s bossing around the people of three villages now?”
“Four, the last I heard,” a big man grunted. “Like to see him try his tricks here!”
“I wouldn’t.” The woman next to him shuddered. “You’re a strong man, my Corin, but you can’t stand against a hundred on horseback!”
“A hundred? Come, Phillida!” Corin scoffed. “Surely he doesn’t have so many!”
“That and more, if the tales I’ve heard are true,” Gar said in his gravelly voice. “Who made this Malachi a general, anyway?”
If he had been hoping to hear about a government that Malachi had been too proud to mention, he was sadly disappointed.
“He did that himself,” Phillida answered. “The tale tells that he was outlawed for bullying in his own village, but he proved a bigger bully than any knew, and soon he bullied all the bandits in the forest.”
“Then he came out of his woodlands,” an old man said, “came out with a hundred bandits at his back and started forcing the people of his village to obey him.”
“His bandits drove the villagers before them to take the blows of a second village,” another man said, “then conquered that village, then a third, and the Scarlet Company hasn’t stopped them yet.”
Gar bit his lip in an agony of curiosity. Alea saw and took pity on him. She told the villagers, “We’re from very far away. What is this Scarlet Company? We’ve been hearing about it for a month, but no one’s told us what it is.”
“You don’t have a Scarlet Company in your home?” The old woman stared at them. “Who holds your bullies in check, then?”
Remembering Midgard, Alea said bitterly, “No one—or at least, only bigger bullies.”