“Why, this is to say that what has been torn apart, will be stronger and more healthy when it has been knit back together!” Alea declared. “No wonder the Wizard wanted you to tell it to me!”
The giants looked at one another in wonder.
“The small one speaks truly,” Riara said. “The myth tells us that the nations of humanity may be rejoined into one, and will be stronger and better for having been sundered, then rejoined!”
“No wonder the tale isn’t told in Midgard,” Alea said bitterly.
“Perhaps there is another reason,” Gar said. “Where did your ancestors learn this myth?”
The giants exchanged glances. Riara said, “They found old books, and searched out the eddas and the sagas, as we have told you—but I think they may have made that tale themselves.”
“Or taken it from another book,” Gar said. “It sounds like one I’ve heard that comes from lands far south of the home of the Aesir—as do Dumi and Thummaz.”
They looked faintly surprised, but most of the giants nodded. “You come from far away indeed,” Riara said “and we have no reason to doubt you. Surely, though, the source of the myth matters not.”
“Indeed,” Gar replied, “and I will guess that you have tales of Frigga and Freya and Idun and the other goddesses, tales that have grown among you here, and were never heard in your ancestors’ home in the stars. This is your world, after all, and myths have grown here to fit it.”
“Do you say that stories take on lives of their own?” Korlan asked, frowning.
“They most definitely do,” Gar said, “and I’ve learned that no border and no army can keep out a myth.”
When the sun was well up and the giants had talked through the meaning of the Great Monad to the point where all could accept their dreams, Gar rose. “I must thank you all for your hospitality, but I must also be on the road again.”
Alea rose with him, saying, “I thank you, too.” Then to Riara and Isola, “I will never forget what you have taught me.” The giant woman looked down at her with blank stares, then smiled. “I’m glad of that,” said Isola, “but I didn’t know we had taught you anything.”
“You have taught me that women deserve respect,” Alea told them, “and that may change my life.”
The women stared in surprise, and Orla said, “Then I am glad indeed you stayed the night with us.” She held out a sack scarcely bigger than her hand, but Alea had to strain to hold it up when she took it. “There is cheese and bread there,” Orla told her, “and some smoked pork, as well as some slices from last night’s roast.”
“Ale,” Garlon said, handing a huge wineskin to Gar. “If you can’t trust the water, you can always trust this.”
“I shall drink all your healths with it,” Gar promised as he slung it over his shoulder and turned to Alea to ask “Will you join me in the toast?”
“Of course!” Alea exclaimed. Then, quickly, “Though I won’t drink as much as Orla would.”
The giants laughed at that, and Gar with them.
“The dwarves have far-talkers, too,” Korlan said. “Shall we call and tell them you are coming?”
“Thank you, but I’d rather you didn’t,” Gar said. “Midgarders might be listening, reason out what paths we take, and set an ambush for us.”
Alea’s blood ran cold at the thought.
“Our ancestors began to use the fartalker three hundred years ago,” Korlan said, frowning, “and never since the first days have we heard them talking on our kind of device. There is another sort that we use for listening to them, but we do not talk—we know they will not answer. It only works near the border, anyway.”
“Within line of sight.” Gar nodded. “I suspect they use FM, while you use AM—far better for long distances. Still, if you listen to their talk, they may be listening to yours. A giant army might take the chance, but two of us alone would not.”
“Even as you say.” Korlan didn’t seem surprised at the idea. “Still, at least take this.” He held out a rolled sheet of parchment half as long as Gar’s torso. “It is a letter to the dwarves, telling that you have been our guests, and good guests. It should bring you safely to Nibelheim without need for a fight.”
“At least with the dwarves,” Riara reminded them. “Midgarder hunters and bandits are another matter.”
“And I do not think the dog packs and pigs know how to read,” Garlon said, grinning. “Take care, my friends, and may your road be safe!”
“Thank you all, thank you deeply,” Gar said, looking around at them with glowing eyes. “I shall remember you all my life with happiness. I hope that we shall meet again some day.”
“Until then, fare well,” Korlan rumbled.
“Aye, fare you well,” Orla said, holding down a huge hand to Alea.
Somehow, though, the smaller woman found herself hugging the young giant around the waist, burying her cheek in the rough cloth of her tunic and fighting back tears. “Oh, fare you well!” she gasped.
Orla stood amazed a moment, then put one huge hand gently against Alea’s back. “We shall see one another again some day, little sister. May Dumi guard your journey.”
“May Frigga guard your staying!” Alea gasped, stepping back.
Then, finally, they were walking down the road out of the village, turning back now and again to wave to the giants, some atop the walls, some standing outside the gates, hands raised as though in blessing.
“I wish we could stay,” Alea said around the lump in her throat, “but I know we can’t.”
“No,” Gar agreed. “We aren’t really giants, after all.”
“Tell that to the Midgarders!” Alea said bitterly. She welcomed the return of her bitterness—it dried up her tears. “More to the point,” Gar said thoughtfully, “tell it to the Jotunheimers. Why were we welcome here, when the giants near the border didn’t even offer us a night’s lodging?”
It was a good question. Alea thought it over for a moment, then guessed, “Perhaps because it was near the border, and they couldn’t trust anyone who might have been a Midgarder?”
“A good reason,” Gar said, nodding. “It also might be that here in the North Country, where villages are few and far between, folk depend on one another and grow hungry for the sight of new faces.”
“Human life is cheap in Midgard,” Alea said, relishing her bitterness, “but it’s dear, here in the North. Is that what you mean?”
“Something like that, yes,” Gar agreed. “Now, if only their stories could make the Midgarders realize the value of human life, too…”
Alea interrupted, impatient with him. “You have an uncommon amount of faith in the power of stories!”
“I believe there is goodness inside most human beings, though in some, it is buried quite deeply,” Gar returned; “and a really good story can reach that goodness.”
“Most?” Alea caught the qualification and returned it. “Not all?”
“I have met a few people in whom I couldn’t find any trace of goodness,” Gar said. “I think something may have gone wrong inside them even before they were born—but whatever the reason, whatever was good or humane in them had been burned out.”
Alea shuddered, and hoped she never met such a person. Then it occurred to her that perhaps she already had.
They turned their steps eastward, across the top of Midgard toward Nibelheim. They began each day with combat practice, and Gar showed Alea how to deal with two antagonists attacking her at once. It was rather clumsy, since he had to jump about trying to take the places of both, but they practiced day after day until Alea could run the drill smoothly and without thinking. Then Gar showed her how to deal with three, then with four.
“What do I do once I have all four down?” she asked him. “Run as fast as you can,” Gar told her. “You can take them by surprise once, but a second time, they’ll be ready, cautious, and canny.”