A Wizard in Midgard

9

There were eight of them, and two of the giants were balancing the ends of a pole on their shoulders. Slung from that pole was an ox. Each giant carried a bow or spear in addition to the axe at his or her waist.

“Run!” Alea caught Gar’s arm.

“Oh, I think we’re far enough north that there’s no danger of their mistaking us for spies,” Gar said easily. “We have come into the North Country, haven’t we?”

That brought Alea up short. “If you’re right about our having come more than three hundred miles, yes.” She wasn’t sure, actually, but she’d heard that the border of Midgard was three hundred miles or so to the north of her village.

“Well, we’ve met giants before, and they were peaceable enough—as long as we were. You’re right, though, it might be better for you to stay hidden until we’re sure.” Gar started to angle toward the giants.

Resentment flared into anger, and for a few seconds, Alea glared at Gar’s retreating back with pure hatred. How dare he make her feel so small! She ran, caught up with him, and snapped, “If you’re not afraid of them, neither am I!”

The warmth and admiration of the look he gave her quelled the hatred utterly. “You have courage, Alea, and that’s more important than being fearless.”

She managed to glare at him anyway, uncertain whether or not she was being complimented. “You seem awfully sure that they won’t try to kill us!”

“Not quite sure,” Gar replied, “but if what you’ve told me about the North Country is true, I think they’ll at least be civil.”

“So it will be my fault if they attack?” Alea demanded. “Oh, no. It will still be my fault.” Gar grinned. “After all, you would never be as foolish as I.”

Alea had to work to keep the resentment and anger going. Then she had to work to keep her fear from showing, as they came onto the same trackway as the giants.

By the gods, they were huge! But when they saw the travelers wading out of the grass onto their road, they halted, and the two bearers laid the dead ox beside the track. No one drew an axe, but every right hand rested on a belt by the axehead, and every left hand moved bow or spear a little to the fore.

“Hail!” Gar held up a palm, imitating the giants’ accent as well as he could. “May your road be smooth!”

“May your road be soft,” a woman in the front rank of the giants said. By her gray hair and lined face, they could see she was the oldest present. “Where are you bound, strangers?”

“To Nibelheim,” Gar answered. “We dare not cross Midgard to go there. I am Gar, and this woman is Alea.” Alea stared. A woman, be spokesman for a hunting band? “Have we come into the North Country?” Gar asked.

“You have indeed.” The giant frowned. “Do you not know where you are?”

“No, for we’ve never been here before, and have only rumors to guide us,” Gar said. “What lies before us?”

“Moor with outcrops of woodlands, and a broad river,” the Jotun said.

“There is a ford a day’s journey north of this track,” one of the men informed them.

“We heard a dog pack in the distance,” a younger woman added. “They did not come near us, though.”

“I don’t wonder at that,” Alea muttered.

“But why do you not dare go through Midgard?” the spokeswoman asked. “Are you renegades?”

“You could call us that,”, Gar said slowly. “We are escaped slaves, who dare not go back.”

“Too tall for the Midgarders, eh?” The woman nodded. “We’ve heard of that. You don’t look much taller than most Midgarders to me, but I hear they have very little patience with a few extra inches.”

“Oh, you may be sure of that,” Alea said, her voice almost a whisper.

The giant woman’s gaze focused on her, frowning, and Alea felt her blood go cold. “What did you say, lass?” the woman asked.

“I said, ‘You may be sure of that,’ ” Alea answered more loudly, “and I’m a grown woman, not a lass!”

“Gently,” Gar hissed. “Don’t start something I can’t finish.” But the giant woman inclined her head in grave apology. “Your pardon, young woman. To us, all Midgarders look much the same, and you’re young enough that I couldn’t say whether you were fifteen or thirty.”

Alea could only stare, thunderstruck by such courtesy in a person of authority.

Gar’s elbow in her ribs jarred her out of her trance. “Accept her apology,” he muttered.

Alea gave herself a shake. “Your pardon for my sharpness, Great One—and I thank you for your courtesy.”

The woman smiled gently. “Call me by name—I am Riara. You sound as though you’re not used to it.”

“I’m not,” Alea said shortly. Then the desire for sheer fairness made her jerk her head toward Gar. “Except in him. His name is Gar, and I’m Alea.”

Gar looked down at her, pleasantly surprised, and might have said something if the giant woman hadn’t spoken first. “A pleasant meeting, Gar and Alea.” Riara’s face creased with a smile. Then caution returned as she asked, “Why do you wish to go to Nibelheim?”

Gar turned back to her. “We have spoken with giants, and found that most of what the Midgarders teach their children about your folk is false. Now we wish to talk with dwarves, and learn if there is any measure of truth in that set of tales.”

“Well, we do not know the tales, so we cannot judge of that for you,” the giant woman said, frowning.

“We know the dwarves, though,” one of the men said. “They are as good a folk as we, though their ways are not ours.”

“Still, you have the right of it in that you must see for yourselves,” a third giant said. “Beware, though, for the dwarves will.”

“Will beware of us?” Gar nodded. “Well, they might, if they have fought the Midgarders as long as you have.”

“You do not sound like a Midgarder, though.” The older woman eyed him with suspicion.

Alea spoke up. “It is because he tries to speak as you do.”

“I do that,” Gar admitted. “I thought it a sign of respect.”

“And a slighter chance that we might misunderstand you?” The older woman smiled, but it was only a quirk of the lips. “Speak as you would without such effort.”

“Why, then, this is how I sound,” Gar said, without his imitation Jotunish. “Can you understand me clearly?”

“Aye, but you still do not sound like a Midgarder,” the woman said, “nor even like the woman who accompanies you.”

“That’s because I’m from far away,” Gar said, glibly but truthfully. “I came into Midgard as a friend, and was forced to my knees and enslaved within minutes.”

Alea stared at him in surprise.

“It would seem your companion has not heard of this,” the giant woman said.

Gar shrugged. “There was no reason to tell her. She has troubles enough of her own.”

“But I asked.” The giant nodded. “You must have known nothing of Midgard indeed—or you must be a mighty fool.”

“A fool I am,” Gar returned, “for I believe that giants, Midgarders, and dwarves can learn to live with one another in peace.”

All the giants shouted with laughter, and the sound struck Alea and Gar as a physical sensation.

When she could bring her laughter under control, Riara wiped her eyes and said, “Foolish indeed! We giants might live as friends with the dwarves, but the Midgarders would never cease to attack us both! Don’t mistake me, they would cheerfully enslave all of Nibelheim if they could—but I would not call that living in peace.”

“No, nor would I,” Gar assured her. “Of course, you might choose to enslave them.”

The last chuckles cut off as though by the blow of an axe, and a giant rumbled, “That is not our way.”

“Even if it were, there are too many of them,” Riara said. Gar didn’t look convinced.

But Riara nodded. “You must indeed be from very far away, if you know so little of the Midgarders—and so little of us. Nay, come home with us, wayfarers, for if you insist on going ahead with your folly, you might as well have a night or two under a real roof—and you surely must learn something more about Jotuns.”

Alea stared in amazement, then stepped back and a little behind Gar out of fear.

Gar, though, only looked surprised. “We are honored, good woman—but dare you trust Midgarders among you?”

“Only two of you, and so small?” Riara waved a hand to dismiss the notion. “Be our guests, strangers, and let us show you that giants are not monsters.”

Fear made a taste—like metal on Alea’s tongue, fear made her belly clench, nearly cramp, and she could have screamed with frustration when Gar gave a courtly bow and said, “How good of you to offer—and what a mannerless churl I would be if I declined!, Thank you, thank you a thousand times for your hospitality. We will be very pleased to accept.”

“We will be pleased to have you,” Riara said, smiling. “Come with us, then.”

But Alea seized his upper arm in a grip so hard and unexpected that it made him wince. “How can you feel safe among people so much bigger than yourself?” she hissed.

“I am supremely conceited,” he whispered back. She glared at him, knowing it wasn’t true.

“If you’ll excuse me a minute,” Gar said to the giant woman, “my companion needs a word in private.”

Riara nodded, her face stolid. “Of course. Step aside; we’ll not listen.” And she turned to discuss the event with her friends. One or two glanced at Gar and Alea as they moved a few paces away, but they turned back to the conversation resolutely, determined to honor privacy.

“You may be able to fight a dog pack,” Alea told Gar angrily, “but you can’t fight a whole village full of giants!”

“Oh, I can fight them,” Gar told her. “I’ll lose, but I can fight them. Still, I don’t think I’ll have to. Even if they do become angry with us or try to imprison us, there are always ways to escape.”

Alea scowled, suddenly aware that there was something he wasn’t telling. “How can you be so sure!”

“If I can escape from a Midgarder farm,” Gar told her, “I can escape from a giant’s pen. They’re not even used to trying to keep people in.”

“How do you know that?” she asked suspiciously.

“You heard them yourself—they don’t take slaves,” Gar told her. “Besides, they look to be the kind of people to whom hospitality is sacred. Still, I can understand your reluctance to spend a night among them. I can escort you to a safe hiding place, then go back to follow the giants’ trail to their village.” Alea felt a sudden determination not to show the slightest sign of fear in Gar’s presence. “What you do, I’ll do! But by all the gods, you’d better be right!”

Why on earth should he have given her such a shining look? She could almost have sworn he was proud of her stand! But all he said was, “I chose better than I knew when I asked you to travel with me. Let’s go be good guests to generous hosts, then.”

He turned away, and Alea followed, only a pace or two to the side, wondering why her knees felt weak. It must have been her fear of the giants. She found herself hoping that none of them would find her pretty.

The first sign that they were coming to the village was a dozen giants leveling the earth of the roadway with six-foot-wide rakes, then spreading sand over it, then levering slabs of rock two feet thick and six feet square into place on top. Riara and her party hailed them, and the giants grinned and waved back, then stared at the two guests and clustered around, gesturing and bombarding them with questions. Alea shrank back, she couldn’t help it, but Gar grinned widely and answered every question and asked a number in his turn. He seemed very interested in their system of roadwork, and Alea could have screamed at him in frustration—but she saw his strategy quickly enough; in minutes, the road crew were discussing construction techniques with him, and not the viciousness and prejudices of Midgarders. In fact, they seemed to accept him as an equal, and not even all that much of a stranger.

“How did you manage to make them friends so quickly?” she asked as Riara led their party onward.

“Masons welcome one another everywhere there are people,” Gar told her.

Alea frowned. “I didn’t know you were a mason.”

“Well, not that kind,” Gar admitted, “but I’m interested in everything.” He looked up at the nearest giant. “Where is that road going?”

“Back to Jotunheim,” the big fellow told him. “We’re only a colony, you know, up here in the North Country. Things were getting crowded back home—we could see the smoke of three other villages on the horizon.”

“Yes, definitely time to look for more elbow room,” Gar agreed. “But your colony must be doing very well, if you can spare the time to build a road.”

The giant shrugged. “We enjoy building. When we have an hour or two free, we like to use it to make things of stone.” They had obviously had quite a few hours to lavish on their village. Gar and Alea’s first sight of it was a huge wall twenty-five feet high, and all of stone. It stretched out a quarter mile to either side. She stopped and stared. “Do you call this a village?”

Orla, the young giant woman beside her, shrugged. They had become acquainted while they were walking, and Alea was amazed how quickly Orla had put her at her ease. “There are only a few hundred of us living here—but we do need more room than you…” She stopped abruptly, leaving the word hanging, and Alea had just time enough to realize Orla had kept herself from saying “Midgarders” before the giant woman hurried on. “You would think that, if we’re only half again as tall, we’d need only half as much room—but it isn’t like that, any more than my being half again as tall should mean I’m only half again as wide.” She grinned down at Alea. “I’m more than twice as wide as you, as you can see, and I need four times as much space.”

“And four times as much, when you have hundreds of people…” Alea shook her head in wonder, staring at the massive wall before her. “To us, that would be a town, and a big one!”

It seemed even bigger as they went through the gates, the hunters waving and joking with the sentries who leaned over the top of the wall, and the gate-guards who stood at its foot. They walked, and walked, and walked—the wall was twelve feet thick, or more!

“Is it solid all the way through?” Alea asked, wide-eyed.

“Of course!” Orla answered. “How else could it hold the weight of an army of giants?”

“An army? Where?” Alea darted fearful glances all about as they came past the wall and into the town.

“Here.” Orla tapped her chest, grinning. “And, there, and there.” She pointed at the other hunters, then at the houses, then swept her arm to include the whole village. “All about you! We’re all the army, everyone sixteen years and older—if we have to be. We can’t understand how you … how those Midgarders can afford to waste people who could be soldiers by making them slaves!”

“Looking at you, I can’t understand it either,” Alea agreed. But she wasn’t looking at Orla, she was looking all about her at the giants’ village.

All their buildings were of stone, real stone, though the older ones were built of irregular field stones set cleverly together. The newer ones were of quarried stone, so closely fitted that she didn’t even see room for mortar. They were each of only one story, though—she was amazed all over again at the thought that fifteen feet from ground to rafters was only one story! But there was only one course of windows, their tops on a level with the door’s, so it had to be only one—and for a ten-foot giant, surely that wasn’t too much room. The roofs were thatched, and she suspected there was timber beneath the straw—but there were no second floors. She wasn’t surprised—she wouldn’t have wanted to try to build a floor that would have held the weight of half a dozen of these people, and would have wanted even less to be in the room below them. Why, such a chamber would have needed so many pillars that it would have seemed a granite forest!

The houses were set wide apart, with sheep cropping grass around fruit trees. For a village, it was open and roomy—but it must have seemed almost crowded, to the giants. Alea was amazed by the room, and the richness of so much rock—she had seen very few stone buildings in her life, only the temple, the village hall, and the earl’s castle. All the others had been of wattle and daub—but here, even the poorest giant had a stone dwelling!

If there was a poorest giant. All the houses looked to be pretty much of a size, with one great building looming over the rest-the village hall, no doubt—and the people all wore very similar clothing, tunics with cross-gartered bias-hosen, all dyed in bright colors. What a contrast to her own dun-and-gray hamlet! But looking at the women, she realized she need not have worried about lustful young giants—all of them were like Riara, Orla, and the other female hunters. She had assumed that any who went hunting would be rougher than most, more sturdily built—but she saw that all the giant women were as thick in limb and body as Riara and the women of her band. If there was any difference between men and women, it was that the men had heavier faces, as though they’d been hewn from blocks of granite by a mason with a dull adze, while the women’s faces seemed dainty by comparison. On the road, Alea had thought Riara looked like a section of tree trunk with the bark left on—but next to the men of her age, she seemed almost delicate. The women had breasts and broader hips, of course, though the difference seemed slight when all had such mighty limbs and the men’s chests were so heavily, muscled. Alea was certainly far too frail for their notion of beauty. The giant women made her feel petite and dainty for the first time in her life, and she very much appreciated it.

She realized that the only reason Rokir and Jorak, the two pubescent outcasts, had desired her was because they’d been raised as Midgarders, with the shorter people’s ideal of prettiness. Of course, they’d also wanted to use her as a target for revenge on the people who had cast them out, perhaps even their own mothers.

The thought gave her a chill, and she forced it aside, made the effort to turn her attention to the amazing sights about her again. She was fascinated to see that the women were no shorter than the men—but the giants varied so much in size that it didn’t seem to matter. Most were ten feet tall, or thereabouts, but some were only nine feet, some eleven, and a few twelve feet tall, or nearly. Some of the women were shorter than some of the men, some were taller, and nobody cared.

They were all massive, though, very massive, and Alea wasn’t surprised to see that the pathways were only earth, but packed so hard she doubted even a flood could turn them to mud. When the clay bore the tread of so many feet with so much weight upon them, it probably packed as hard as brick.

Then she saw a Midgarder and cried out in surprise and fear, ducking behind Orla.

“What? Is someone trying to hurt you?”

Alea looked up and was amazed to see Gar standing there, arm out to support, hand out to comfort, though he didn’t touch her. Only a moment ago, he’d been talking to a man half his size!

“No one’s trying to hurt her,” Orla assured him, and reached down to touch Alea’s shoulder, ever so lightly. “No one will. What frightened you, friend Alea?”

Friend! Alea stared up at her wide-eyed, caught between delight and fear. “The Midgarder—he mustn’t see me!”

“Midgarder?” Orla frowned. “There are no…”

“There.” Gar jerked his head toward the middle-aged man who was approaching, face all concern.

Orla looked up. “Oh, you mean Garlon? He’s no Midgarder, he’s my father.”

Gar and Alea both stared.

Garlon slowed, nearing them, and smiled. “It’s true enough, young folk. I’m a giant, despite my inches—or lack of them—because, you see, I’m the son of two giants!”

“It’s quite possible,” Gar said, wide-eyed. “Recessive genes don’t always link up.”

Alea turned to him in irritation. “What nonsense are you talking?”

“Rude nonsense,” Gar told her, then to Garlon, “My apologies, goodman. I shouldn’t have stared, but you took me quite by surprise.” After all, he reflected, it’s one thing to see them in orbital photographs, but quite another to meet them and find they have names.

“I don’t mind at all,” Garlon said, holding out a hand. “We’re not used to visitors, you see, and especially not ones from Midgard, so we don’t think to explain in advance.”

Gar shook his hand. “So giants sometimes have Midgard-sized children or grandchildren?”

“Yes, and sometimes smaller—I’ve four of my own children, and Orla is the only one who’s a giant.”

Orla nodded. “My sister and my younger brother are a little shorter than you, and my older brother is almost short enough to be a dwarf.”

“There are even a fair number of dwarf children born to each generation,” Garlon explained, “but when they’re grown, they generally band together and travel to Nibelheim, looking for mates.”

“Isn’t the North Country dangerous, though?” Gar asked, frowning.

Garlon grinned. “Our children are a match for any dogs or pigs, stranger, I assure you of that—if there are enough of them.”

“Fascinating,” Gar said. “But the most vicious predators walk on two legs, not four.”

“You mean the bandits cast out of Midgard, and the hunters who track them?” Orla grinned. “Giant brothers and sisters escort the dwarves, so they always survive the trip. Then the giants born of Nibels come back with them, to seek mates here—though truth to tell, they often find them on the trip, among one another.”

“It must be hard to say goodbye to a child forever,” Gar said to Garlon, face somber.

“Oh, they manage to send messages home with the rare travelers who happen by,” Garlon assured him. “The North Country isn’t an absolute waste, and there are caravans of merchants now and then. Even bandits think twice about attacking a hundred well-armed dwarves, or a dozen giants.”

“Or sixty of both together,” Orla amended.

“Amazing,” Alea breathed. “They never told us any of this at home!”

“No, because they wanted you to believe we’re monsters, or at least completely different from you,” Garlon told her. “Of course,” Gar said slowly. “If Midgarders knew that you have children their own size, they’d have to think of you as people, like themselves!”

“Indeed they would.” For a moment, Garlon’s disgust showed, but he hid it quickly. “Then, of course, they’d have no excuse to go on enslaving one another, or driving out the ones who grow too big.” He looked up at Orla. “How was the hunting, daughter?”

“Good enough, Father,” Orla swung a game bag off her shoulder and down to him. “There’s a dozen geese and eight partridges in there, and the other hunters did as well or better.”

Garlon staggered under the weight of the bag, but bore up bravely and turned away. “Come, let us show this bounty to your mothers! Strangers, will you dine with us tonight?”

Alea stared, surprised by the invitation, but Gar said, “We’d be delighted. How kind of you to ask.”

“I think the whole village may feast on the common, Father,” Orla said as she fell in beside him. “Together, we managed to fell an ox, but I’m sure you’ve seen that.”

“I have indeed, and that’s reason enough for feasting tonight,” Garlon puffed. “I’m glad you had a good day.” He beamed up at Orla with pride. “I wondered when you chose Dumi as your goddess when you were so small, but you’ve proved true to her in every way.”

Orla blushed with pleasure, seeming to expand a little with her father’s praise, though he only came up to her bottom rib.

Gar frowned. “Who is DUMI?”

“The goddess of the hunt,” Orla told him. “Don’t you learn of her, in Midgard?”

“No, we don’t,” Alea said. “Tell me of her!”

“Well, she’s a virgin goddess,” Orla said, grinning, “but I don’t intend to imitate her in that, at least not forever. I think I’ll have to go visit relatives in Jotunheim, though.”

“I suppose you will,” Garlon sighed, “but there are half a dozen young men here who are worthy of you, Orla, hard though it is for me to admit it.”

Gar smiled. “I thought no father ever thought any man was good enough for his daughter.”

“Well, I do have to strive to keep an open mind,” Garlon admitted.

“All the young men here are very nice,” Orla sighed, “but none of them makes my heart beat any faster.”

Alea stared at her. “What has that to do with marriage?” Orla stared back. Then her face darkened with anger. “By the goddess! Those Midgarders only give you a choice between two kinds of slavery, don’t they?”

Gar said quickly, “Do I take it that a woman can live with respect and comfort here even if she doesn’t marry?”

“Of course!” Garlon said in surprise. “What loving father would make his daughter marry a man she doesn’t love, just to have a living?”

“True,” Alea said bitterly, “but if that is so, Midgard is filled with unloving fathers.” She sent up a prayer of thanks to Freya that she had not been so cursed.

Garlon scowled, but before he could say anything, they came out between two houses to the village green. Giants were clustered around with a liberal sprinkling of smaller people, watching two huge young men wrestling, stripped to the waist and shiny with sweat.

Orla slowed, her eye gleaming. “Let’s watch for a little while, Father.”

“Why, as you wish, child,” Garlon said, giving her a sly look.

They moved onto the grass and stopped twenty feet from the wrestlers. Alea saw why Orla was interested—even she felt a tremor of response inside her at the sight of those huge muscles sliding beneath burnished skin, even though the men were blocky and lumpy by her own standards. She found it interesting that they had very little body hair, even though they had thick and luxuriant beards. Perhaps they shaved… Gar watched with great interest as the two men grappled, then sprang apart, panting, then sprang together again. Suddenly one giant went shooting up into the air, sailed back, and landed with an impact that shook the ground. The crowd made noises of approval, but Gar almost shouted with delight. “Well thrown! Deftly done!”

The thrown rolled and rose up, but the victor turned to Gar with a grin. “Many thanks, little man. I’m surprised you could see what I did. I didn’t know Midgard paid any attention to wrestling.”

“I’m not your average Midgarder,” Gar told him.

“Then perhaps you’d like to try a fall or two,” the young giant said.

A slow grin spread over Gar’s face. Alea turned to him in a panic, but before she could say anything, he had stepped forward, casting away his cloak and slipping out of his tunic. “Why, thank you! I’d love the exercise. What are your rules?”