“They can only say that because they don’t know the pain and suffering that go into making and birthing a child,” Alea reminded them. Her heart ached at the thought of the experience she would never have. “The greatness is in the life, not the size.”
The women all turned to her, staring in surprise and relief, but Sigurd frowned. “The men say we are the ones who are becoming great—that there’s something new in each generation, better than the last, and that we are the best that’s ever been!”
Alea frowned. “What of the giants?”
“A mistake,” Elsa said promptly. “The gods tried to make a better people, but made them slow in mind and body—and don’t even think to ask about the dwarves, those piddling little monstrosities! They’re mistakes if ever there was one!”
Helga said, as though that proved it beyond the shadow of a doubt, “So say the men.”
“What do you say?” Alea asked.
The women stared at her blankly. Finally Sigurd managed to say, “We’ll leave that kind of thinking to the men. How to raise the children, what to cook for dinner, that’s what women should think about.”
“Is it? And who told you that?” Alea challenged.
“Our mothers!” Helga snapped. “They also told us that women who meddle in men’s affairs will lose their husbands, and die trying to fend for themselves!”
“A giant woman would live, fending for herself,” Alea returned. “Didn’t the men say you were better?”
Helga scowled and repeated stubbornly, “The giants are mistakes, and so is your notion of them!”
“The mistakes are in the minds of your men,” Alea said tartly. “Humanity is like Thummaz, torn into four parts—giants, dwarves, men, and women. We’re sending ourselves to death if we stay apart—but we can be stronger and better than ever if we can pull all four parts of ourselves back together.”
“As Dumi did to Thummaz?” Sigurd guessed. “Even so,” Alea confirmed.
Helga leaned forward, hands clasped, her frown one of interest now, not anger. “Tell us more of this Dumi. We haven’t heard of her before.”
When the girls came to tell them the roast was done, Helga nodded her thanks and stood up. “We’ll test it, but I’m sure you’re right, Thala. You’ve been turning spits long enough now.”
NEW though the praise was, the twelve-year-old dimpled with pleasure. The women went slowly toward the spit, listening to the men argue.
“But the giants and the Midgarders aren’t anywhere nearly as good as we are!” a brawny man almost as tall as Gar was saying. “And the dwarves are so little and weak it’s laughable! How could we lower ourselves to join with any of them?”
The other men chorused agreement, with cries of “That’s right, right, Lafo!”
“Right as you’re big, Lafo!”
“Then the giants must be more right than any,” Gar said reasonably, “since they’re the biggest.”
“Don’t play with my words, stranger!” The speaker shook a fist. “You know what I mean!”
“You only think the giants are slow and stupid because you don’t know them,” Gar told him. “As to the dwarves, they must be smart, or they wouldn’t still be alive.”
“Prove it!”
“There’s only one way,” Gar told him. “Visit them.” For the first time, fear showed in the men’s eyes. “Wouldn’t we be the fools, though?” another man snorted. “Stupid they may be, but those giants are monsters, too! They’d eat us for dinner!”
Alea almost said the giants wouldn’t be able to stand the smell, but caught herself in time.
“Giants eat oxen, Kargi, not people,” Gar said. “If they did, Alea and I would be dead now, probably bone meal in a loaf of bread. You’ve been listening to too many children’s tales.”
“We’ve only your word they guested you,” Zimu grunted. “And a huge aleskin,” Gar reminded him.
“All right, so you’re a clever thief!”
“If we go back to them,” Gar said, “will you watch from a distance and see how they treat us?”
“Aha! So that’s it!” Kargi cried. “You’re the bait, come to lead us into their traps! All this noise about this Thummaz you’ve told us, is only a ruse to lower our suspicions!”
“A safe distance, I said,” Gar reminded him. “You watch from a ridge-top a quarter of a mile away.”
“Yes, while your giant friends creep up behind to catch us all and gut us for dinner!” Kargi turned to his mates. “Are we going to let them get away with that?”
“No! Never!” Came from two dozen throats, and the bandits were all on their feat, striding toward Gar, shaking staves and battle-axes.
13
Alea’s heart sank, but she stepped up behind Gar, back to back, quarterstaff on guard. The odds were two dozen to one, but she was bound and determined to die fighting, determined that they’d have to kill her, that the pains of battle were the only ones she would suffer.
She didn’t even think of surrendering and leaving Gar to die alone. It went without saying that she’d be right back where she was in Midgard, maybe worse.
A bandit ran at her, his face twisted into an, ugly mask of hatred, stick high to deliver a crushing blow.
That stick disintegrated, crumbled to dust even as he swung it.
Alea stared, not believing her eyes. The bandit jolted to a halt, staring at his empty hands, just as disbelieving. But other bandits shouldered him aside and swung—and watched their own staves crumble to powder even as they descended. A fourth bandit pushed past them, roaring and swinging a battle-axe—but it turned to rust and struck Alea’s staff, shredding away into brownish clumps as it did.
The man stared at her in horror. Then he shouted, “Witch!”
“No! ”Alea cried.
Half a dozen men leaped on her, howling with anger and hatred, reaching for her with their bare hands. She swung her staff with maniacal speed, cracking knuckles and heads. Rough hands caught her arms, but she swung a knee up, a man howled, and the hands went away to clutch at his groin as he doubled over. Another man took his place, seizing her by the throat, but she knocked his arms away as Gar had taught her, then jabbed him in the belly with the butt of her staff. Two more sprang in from the sides to seize her upper arms, but she swung the staff with her lower arms as hard as she could, first the one side, then the other, and the men cried out in pain, their holds loosening. She wrenched one arm free, turned to lash out at the other man—and something struck her head, hard. The world went dark, sparks clouded her vision, there was roaring in her ears, and she fought in panic to hold onto consciousness, wildly afraid of what might happen if she lost her hold on the world.
Then the sparks cleared, the roaring softened, and she stared about her at a dozen men lying on the ground. Sick guilt filled her at the thought that she might have killed so many, but she saw that their eyes were closed and looked more sharply.
They were all breathing.
She looked about in amazement. The women crouched back around the fire, clutching children in their skirts, arms up to protect their faces, moaning in terror.
Then a hand came into her vision; palm up. She flinched away, then heard Gar say, as though at a feast-day dance, “May I help you up?”
She took the hand, trembling, and climbed to her feet, looking about her. All the men of the band lay on the ground, unconscious or asleep. She stared up at Gar. “How… how did you…?”
“I warned them I was a wizard,” he told her calmly. “There were too many of them, though. They would have buried me under sheer numbers, if you hadn’t guarded my back long enough.”
She tightened her hand on his, stared into his eyes, then looked away from the heat there, and blinked at the women. “I’m … I’m sorry…”