“Well, then, you’re welcome,” Zimu said with poor grace. “Woman, gather wood as you come! We’ll need a big fire if we’re to celebrate guests.”
Alea stared at him in outrage. No giant would ever have spoken to a woman like that!
“She gathers no wood, and carries only her own pack.” Gar’s hand hovered over her shoulder, and only the two of them knew that he didn’t really touch her. “She is my shieldmaiden.”
“I don’t see any shield,” Zimu growled, eyeing them suspiciously.
“She is herself my shield,” Gar explained.
Alea had to fight the impulse to look up at him in surprise, and scolded herself for the warmth that spread through her at his words.
“You had better treat her kindly,” Gar went on, “for when she dies, she will become a Valkyrie, and if you lie dead on a battlefield, she’ll ignore you if you’ve treated her ill.”
Alea knew he was only making up a story, but still her heart leaped. To become a Valkyrie when she died! But surely all Gar’s teaching couldn’t accomplish that.
The bandits kept their distance as they led the way deeper into the forest. It gave Alea a chance to step closer to Gar and hiss, “This is the height of stupidity! In their own camp, they can beat us senseless and do with us as they will!”
“They won’t dare,” Gar whispered back, “and I have to learn what the outlaws are like, how they live, if I’m to have any hope of bringing peace to this land.”
Alea stared at him for a full minute, then said, “You really mean it, don’t you? You’re actually going to try to free the slaves and make peace!”
“I really do,” Gar said gravely. “A person has to have something to do in this life, after all, some reason to live, and this is mine.”
“What’s the matter with a wife and children?” Alea jibed. “Only that the wife is so obstinate she refuses to be found,” Gar answered. “The children are difficult to manage with but her.”
Looking into his eyes, Alea saw a bleakness and a hunger that made her look away. “Can you really protect us against them?”
“Oh, yes,” Gar assured her, “as long as I stay awake—but what’s more important is that I have them convinced that I can.”
“How can you do it?” Alea demanded.
“It’s a talent,” Gar whispered frankly, “but it takes training too. I think you might have some of the gift. Stay with me long enough, and you might learn how.”
Alea stiffened; if she hadn’t known Gar better, she would have thought it was a proposition rather than an invitation. As a matter of fact, she reminded herself, she didn’t know him well enough—and there might be less danger away from him than with him, after all. She decided to think seriously about leaving him to wander alone.
She had plenty of time to consider it, though.
The bandit camp was only a broad clearing deep in the birch forest, cluttered with debris among the score or so of bark huts that stood about it in no particular order—giant white halfballs, reminding her of puffball toadstools on a damp morning. Looking more closely, she found they were covered with birchbark—over long bent poles, she suspected. She wondered if such dwellings could really keep the rain out and the heat in.
There were women moving about that village, tending near-naked children, hauling water, chopping wood, and mending the huts. The older girls were bringing in baskets of berries. There were a dozen men lounging about the camp, fletching arrows, practicing quarterstaff play or archery, or simply talking to one another. As she watched, one man called a woman over to him and handed her an empty mug. She nodded, took it, and disappeared into one of the huts, then came back and handed it to the man. He broke off talking to another bandit long enough to take a long drink.
Alea felt outrage. After the giants’ village, where everyone shared tasks, it seemed abysmally wrong to see women doing all the drudgery. Perhaps there was some truth in the notion that the men had to hunt and be ready to fight, but it did seem to be very uneven.
Zimu stopped by a dilapidated hut. “This is your dwelling for the night. We wish you joy of it.”
Alea’s sense of outrage heightened, but Gar only said, “It will do. Thank you for your hospitality”
“It’s our pleasure,” Zimu grunted. “We’ll eat when the roast is done—an hour or two. When you’ve settled yourself, you can join us for some beer and talk.”
“Thank you. I would like that.”
Zimu nodded and turned away, apparently not feeling it necessary to address a single comment to Alea. As soon as he was out of hearing range, she turned on Gar fiercely, albeit in a whisper. “Have you no pride? Giving us a house like this shows his contempt for you!”
“Yes, it does, doesn’t it?” Gar said mildly. “So we’ll turn it back on him, and have it snug and clean in half an hour—together.”
“Can’t you ever argue?” Alea hissed, exasperated. “Do you have to find a way to agree with everything I say?”
“That,” Gar said, “or find a way to make what you say agree with me. Think, my friend—what will they say when they see me working with you?”
Alea started a sharp retort, then caught herself, eyes widening. Slowly, she grinned. “The men will tell themselves you’re not much of a man, but their bruises will tell them otherwise. And the women…” She left the sentence hanging.
“The women will be scandalized,” Gar finished for her, “but they’ll be thinking about it for weeks afterwards. They won’t dare try to talk these brutes into sharing the work, but they’ll cheer for anyone who comes to make these bandits learn to farm.”
“Farm?” Alea stared blankly. “What crops could grow in so short and cold a summer as this land sees?”
“Barley, oats, cabbage, and half a dozen others,” Gar told her, “and wild pigs and oxen can be corralled and bred.”
“How will you talk the men into that?” Alea challenged. “More of your stories?”
“What else would men like this listen to?” Gar asked. “Come, let me show you how to take bark from a birch without killing the tree.”
Working together, they swept out the hut, patched it, brought in beds of bracken, and started a fire in the central pit under the smoke hole. As they worked, Alea was very much aware that first one, then five, then a dozen men were staring at them, muttering indignantly to one another. She smiled to herself and kept on working. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the women taking quick glances at them, trying not to be seen watching—but she knew they were storing away the picture of man and woman working together.
It took a little longer than the half hour Gar had predicted, but the pig on the spit over the village’s central firepit was barely half-cooked by the time they were done.
“I should come with you to talk to the men,” Alea told Gar, but kept her voice low.
“You could,” Gar agreed, “but it might be more important for you to talk to the women. I expect they want to scold you for letting a man help you.”
“Well, that’s one way of showing envy,” Alea said, grinning. She found herself looking forward to the contest.
“You might want to explain it by telling the women the story of Dumi,” Gar said. “I’m sure they haven’t heard it.”
“And then, of course, I would go on to the story of Thummaz?” Alea asked, with irony.
“You might,” Gar said. “I should be telling it to the men about the same time. I wonder how we’ll dream tonight?” Alea stared up at him. “You don’t mean the Wizard is following us!”
“He might have gone before,” Gar said, “but I don’t think these outlaws would have been so quick to attack us if he had. Let’s see if we can prepare the way for him. Good luck with the women.”