A Wizard in Midgard

6

That’s true, and we shouldn’t judge the whole nation by one band.”

“You’re right about some man starting the rumors, though.” Alea turned back to him, frowning. “I can’t see a woman making up horror stories like that.”

“I’ve known women who would do it.” Now it was Gar’s gaze that drifted. “Ones who wanted to heap shame on a neighbor whose son or daughter had grown too tall, perhaps, or one who wanted to make up for feeling tiny when she looked at a very tall neighbor woman.”

“Yes,” Alea spat, her face suddenly twisted with anger. “There are women who would do that.”

“Still, I think it more likely that the fathers were trying to raise sons who would be better giant killers because they didn’t see the big ones as people, really.” Gar’s gaze drifted back to her. “And wanted to raise their daughters to become wives who would urge their husbands on to mayhem out of sheer terror.”

Alea frowned, thoughtful again. “You don’t suppose husbands and wives agreed on the same horror stories for different reasons, do you?”

Again, Gar was amazed at her ability to see beyond the confines of the culture in which she had been raised. “I think it’s very likely. In fact, I don’t think the ordinary grandmother could make a story sound true if she didn’t believe it.”

“But if our ancestors told us lies about the giants,” Alea asked, “what of the tales of the dwarves?”

“Interesting question.” Gar grinned. “Why don’t we visit the dwarves and find out?”

Alea stared. “Visit the dwarves? Are you mad?”

Gar sighed, and summoned his reserves of patience—but before he could begin to explain, Alea gave a laugh. “Silly of me, isn’t it? When I’ve just worked out that the real giants may be nothing to fear, I’m still terrified of the dwarves!” The laugh transformed her face, bringing out all the beauty hidden by her bitterness, fear, and exhaustion. Gar caught his breath, but as suddenly as it had come, that beauty was gone in the hardness of the look of a woman trying to confront the truth—which amazed Gar still more, for she came from a culture in which superstition was accepted as fact.

“A visit to the dwarves is another matter completely, though,” Alea told him, “for they live in Nibelheim, far to the west, and all of Midgard lies between us and them.”

“I’m not eager to cross Midgard,” Gar admitted. “Somehow, I doubt that we’d make it through.”

Alea shuddered. “Thank you, no! I’m not about to walk back into slavery!”

Gar closed his eyes, visualizing the photographic map Herkimer had displayed for him, and the line where the darkness of pine forest gave way to tundra. “Who lives in the north, Alea? How far does Midgard go?”

“Well, there’s a land to the north of it, if that’s what you mean,” Alea said, surprised. “I don’t know how many days’ journey it would take to go there, but it doesn’t matter, nobody would want to.”

“Really?” Gar asked, interested. “Why not?”

“Well, because it’s a wasteland,” Alea explained, “all pine forest and high moors, too cold and dry to grow a decent crop. Besides, they say there are no rivers, and the brooks are few and far between.”

“Someone must have been there, then,” Gar pointed out, “or there would be no stories telling what it’s like.”

“Oh, travelers have gone there, yes,” Alea said. “Some have even come back—slave-hunters and the like. They say there are giants there, but not many.”

“Slave-hunters?” Gar looked interested. “So some slaves do manage to escape and stay free?”

Alea shuddered. “Yes, but they’re as bad as the hunters. Folk speak of whole bands of runaways, all murderers and thieves—bloodthirsty men who will do anything rather than be caught.”

“I know how they feel,” Gar said, smiling.

For a moment, Alea was angry with him, indignant that he could seem amused at the notion of such criminals. Then, though, she remembered what she had just learned about the tales with which she’d been raised, and laughed. “It does sound too horrible to be true, doesn’t it?”

“It does indeed,” Gar said. “Just the kind of thing you’d tell slaves, to make them afraid to try to escape.”

Alea sobered. “It might be true, though, and such men might not be too gentle with women.”

“Might.” Gar held up a finger. “Might not, too. I suspect the rumors have become far worse than the reality.”

“Oh?” Alea bridled at his self-assurance. “What do you think is the truth, then?”

“Probably a handful of scrawny, ragged people on the verge of starvation,” Gar said, “if what you say about the land being so poor is true. But if there really are a few giants there, then I suspect there are some dwarves—in fact, it just might be a country where all three nations live side by side. I wonder if they fight, or help one another?”

For a moment, Alea was scandalized by the thought of giants, people, and dwarves working together, shocked at the vision it raised—of all three dwelling in a single village in peace. Then she managed to accept the notion, or at least its possibility—if giants could be gentle, why not escaped slaves? She realized that having discovered the lie in one set of things she’d been taught, made her question all the rest. “It’s possible,” she said, “but what difference does it make?”

“A great deal, if we’re going there.” Gar stood up, swing ink his pack to his shoulders.

“Going there!” Alea jumped to her feet, heart pounding. “But you can’t!”

“Why not?” Gar grinned. “You’ve already told me that some escaped slaves manage to hide there and stay free. In fact, it looks like the only place where we’d really have a chance. Besides, if I want to visit the dwarves, I’ll have to go through the North Country, since I can’t pass through Midgard. To top it off, I might actually be able to meet both giants and dwarves without having to worry about permission to cross someone else’s territory.”

“But the danger!” Alea cried. “Those wild slaves might do anything to us!” She shuddered at the thought. “For all we know, they might even eat us!”

“Or, for all we know, they might welcome us,” Gar pointed out.

“The stories also tell about wild-dog packs,” Alea said darkly, “many of them. I’m sure they’ll welcome us, too.”

“Four-legged predators can’t be any worse than the two-legged kind,” Gar countered, “and they tend to run in packs, too. As to the hazards of the wasteland, I’ve dealt with them before, and I can deal with them again. I’m willing to take the chance. Besides, is it any safer to stay here in no-one’s-land?”

“No-one’s-land!” Alea stamped her foot in anger. “Why can’t you say ‘no-man’s-land,’ like everyone else?”

“Because I don’t think the world has ever belonged just to men,” Gar said, “though we like to flatter ourselves that it has. It’s belonged at least as much to the women they marry, who raised the next generation of men, and women for them to marry. In fact, if there weren’t any women, there wouldn’t be any men, so the country has to belong to both of them—if it belongs to anybody at all.”

Alea stood stiff, bracing herself against the wind that was sweeping away all her old ideas of the world. Men and women own the land together! Men and women being equals! Her mind reeled at the thought, but her heart leaped.

Then she realized that Gar’s hand was on her shoulder, that she was leaning against it, and that he was looking down at her with concern, asking, “Are you well?”

She leaped away, striking out at his hand. “Don’t touch me! If I’m as good as you, I can demand that much, can’t I?”

“That, and a great deal more.” Gar shook his hand ruefully, backing away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to invade your privacy.”

The wind of concepts blasted her again, and Alea stood rigid against it. A man, telling a woman he was sorry when he wasn’t even in love with her? Worrying about her privacy? What kind of man was this, anyway, and what kind of world did he bring with him?

Whatever kind it was, she knew she wanted it. Her heart surged, and she yearned with all her being for this wonderful new vision Gar had given her. “I’ll go with you to the North Country,” she heard herself saying. “But mind you, you’ll have to teach me to protect myself. You can’t fight off a whole pack of wild dogs by yourself, you know.”

Gar’s smile was dazzling. “Done! You’ll have your first lesson at moonrise.”

Actually, they had to wait until the moon was above the trees at the edge of the river meadow they chose for their rest. Its light was a blessing—in the darkness, Alea was forever tripping in potholes and over boulders, even in the roadway. By moonlight, though, all the old tales about ghosts came flocking back to make her fearful, and there was no assurance that the dog packs wouldn’t come hunting by night, even though they were daytime animals, and so were the wild pigs. She felt much safer with Gar than she had before she met him, but the night still seemed haunted.

Now, though, Gar squared off from her and said, “European style first. Hold your staff in the middle, so your hands divide it into thirds, like this.” He held up his staff to guard position. “Now from here, you can block a blow from overhead just by bringing the stick up, from below by bringing it down, and from left or right by striking.” He demonstrated as he talked. “Now strike at me with your stick, and see how it works. Strike lightly, by the way—that dry branch won’t stand much of a blow. We’ll have to find you a better one soon.”

Exasperated by his self-assurance, Alea struck, probably harder than she should have. Gar’s staff snapped up to block, and at least Alea’s stick didn’t break. She took that to mean she hadn’t struck too hard after all, and swung up from below. Smiling, Gar dropped his staff to block again.

Alea began to grow a little angry. Determined to wipe that smile off his face, she struck from the right. Gar swung his own staff as he’d said, and the two knocked together. Alea realized she’d have to go through with the demonstration, so she struck from the left. Again, Gar blocked her stick.

“Now I’ll strike, and you block.” Gar saw the look of fright and belligerence on her face and said quickly, “I won’t swing very hard, of course, and very slowly. The point is to teach you, not to hit you. On guard!”

Alea brought her stick up as he had shown her.

“Not so high,” Gar warned. “You’re giving me too much target below the staff. Ready? Now!”

He moved his quarterstaff as though he were pushing his way through molasses. Alea swung hers up much more quickly, to block. Gar touched her stick hard enough for her to feel the blow, but not much more. Then he said, “From below, now. Guard!”

She lowered her stick to the level he had shown her, then dropped it down some more to catch the tip of his staff as it came up.

So it went for half an hour, with Gar showing her how to strike from left and right, then how to make a circle with the end of the staff in order to strike from above or below, then how to feint, starting a blow from above but changing it to left or right. By the time he called a halt, they were both breathing in gasps and covered with sweat.

“It’s not good to let the night chill us,” Gar told her. “I’ll kindle a fire.”

Soon after, they were sitting on opposite sides of the flames sipping tea. Alea wondered how long his supply would last, and hoped he had a lot of it—she was beginning to like the beverage.

Gar broke out biscuits and cheese and passed her some across and to the side of the flames. Alea took them, then realized how close she was to him. She felt a spurt of fright and almost moved farther away, then told herself that was silly—she’d been within arm’s reach of him for half an hour, and he hadn’t. Reached, that is. Besides, she was determined not to let him see she was afraid of him.

“You’re a quick learner,” Gar said. “and you move well. You must have danced a great deal.”

“Not as much as I would have liked.” The statement brought memories of village dances, and of herself watching as the boys chose other girls. But there had been the women’s dances, for May or other holidays, and she had loved the movements there. She had practiced by herself in her father’s barn where no one could see her, as often as she might, at least once a day. “How could you tell?”

“Coordination,” Gar said simply. “You always seem to be aware of your whole body, where each hand and foot is, every second. You’ll learn the staff quickly. Let the dog-packs of the North beware.”

He said it with such a joking air that Alea felt exasperated again. Didn’t he realize the dogs were real, genuine danger? “Why face them?” she demanded. “Why are you willing to take such a risk?”

Gar shrugged. “I can’t live in Midgard, except as a slave—I’m too tall. The giants won’t take me in because I’m too short, and I’m sure the dwarves would think I’m far too big. Where am I supposed to live?”

The question cut deeply into Alea. She, too, no longer had a home. Where did you go, if you fit nowhere? “Do you think there might be more like us in the North Country?”

“If there are, they’re far enough north so that word of them doesn’t seem to have come back to Midgard—unless the runaway slaves and criminals they tell of are really people of our own kind, too short to be giants but too tall to be Midgarders.”

“Or too small?” Alea sounded a little forlorn, even to her own ears, and wondered where the idea had come from. “Possibly, yes.” Gar seemed a little excited by the idea. Alea felt another touch of exasperation. His enthusiasm was infectious, but also draining. She countered it. “So there would be bands of people our size, and other bands about four feet high. They’d fight, wouldn’t they?”

“Perhaps not.” Gar gazed into the fire, face gone dreamy. “They might be so disgusted with the old nursery stories that they’d try to make peace. Besides, who says they might not all be in the same bands?”

Alea looked up in alarm. “Then surely the short ones would be slaves!”

“Maybe not,” Gar said softly. “People are sometimes more valuable to each other when there are fewer of them. Besides, I don’t think there would be very many bands of outcasts.”

“They’d probably as soon rob us as welcome us,” Alea said sourly.

“That’s possible, too,” Gar sighed. “It might well be every man for himself there, with all hands turned against their neighbors. No, if we want a home, we’ll have to make one.”

“In a frozen wasteland?”

Gar shrugged. “I suppose I could live on sauerkraut and reindeer meat if I had to.”

“What is a rain dear?”

Gar gave her a searching glance, then said, “Just a dream creature from a child’s story. But I suspect oxen escaped and bred there, so there should be some kind of game to hunt. After all, the wild dogs have to live on something.”

Alea shuddered at the thought of the dog packs, though she had never seen one.

“Still, I’m not planning to stay in the North Country,” Gar told her. “It would be much better to persuade the three human breeds here to learn to tolerate one another and stop fighting. Then, maybe, they wouldn’t feel obliged to cast out those such as us.”

“Even the Midgarders don’t cast us out,” Alea said bitterly. “They enslave us, and if we’re lucky, we escape, though I’ve never heard of anyone who wasn’t brought back—except the outlaws to the north.” Then she frowned. “What kind of man are you if you don’t know this?”

“One from far away,” Gar answered, “very far, and sometimes I think I should never have left home.” A shadow crossed his face, but he shook off the melancholy before it could take hold of him. “I did leave, though, since there wasn’t much for me there, and I have to make a life for myself. How can I do that if all three kinds of people are fighting so hard that none of them will accept me?”

“You don’t think you could persuade them to let you live among them even if you could get them to make peace, do you?”

“It’s worth a try.” Gar flashed her a grin. “And it’s better than spending all my days running and hiding without any hope of being able to settle down to a real life.”

“Yes; it is!” The audacity of the idea dizzied Alea, the sheer nerve of daring to try to achieve something so immense as peace between the Jotuns, Nibels, and Midgarders. She wondered for a moment where women might fit into Gar’s new world, then scolded herself for silliness—women were part of men, everyone knew that. Still, the giants had seemed to treat her with greater respect than the men of her own land…

Hope flowered within her with such an intensity that it almost frightened her—she had begun to accept despair, almost to clasp it to her, and she found that hope hurt. But she summoned her courage and gazed into Gar’s eyes, daring the pain, embracing the hope, discovering that no matter the risk, she couldn’t turn away from the idea of winning back her life. “I’ll go along and try for that peace with you, lad. We’re probably a pair of fools who will die trying for a dream that can’t come true, but Freya knows it’s better than dying in despair grubbing roots and berries!”

“Brave woman!” Gar flashed her his grin again. “That same Freya knows I’ll be glad of your company—but it will be dangerous, you know.”

“There’s no way my life can’t be, now,” she told him. “In fact, there’s no hope of life at all, except as a slave and whore. No, I’ll face danger beside you.”

“Then let’s go conquer the world!” Gar shoveled dirt on the fire, put away the mugs, then rose and turned to start down the road. “Or shake some sense into it and make it see it has to be a peaceful world, at least.”

Alea fell into step beside Gar, amazed at herself, but just as much amazed at him. How many men would invite a woman along if they knew they were marching into danger? He was a rare one, all right, and must be very sure of his ability to protect them both.

The thought chilled her. If he was that strong, that good a fighter, how easily might he beat her or wrestle her down? Anger surged, and her hand tightened on her staff. He would pay dearly for that victory, Alea vowed—then realized that if he’d wanted to do it, he would have already. She glanced up at his face with its slight, serene smile, eyes bright with eagerness to face the future and the struggle for peace. Strangely, she felt safe with him—or safer with than without him, at least. She wondered why, and scolded herself—she must keep on being careful, after all.

Still, she was amazed to discover that she could trust a man again, even as little as this.

She was amazed, too, to realize that she had come to accept the idea that dwarves and giants were people just as surely as the folk of her former village. How quickly that had happened, how suddenly! Might it be because it meant that she and Gar were people, too? Still, it was a wonder.

So was he.

They wandered northward through a wild land for three nights, keeping the evening sun on their left and the morning sun on their right. Woodlands alternated with meadows, the grass filled with weeds and the trees filled with underbrush. Twice they had to hide from patrols of human hunters setting out in the first light of dawn, once from a squadron of giants on their way home in the dusk. They saw no farmers. No one dared cultivate the rich land of this border region, when armies might clash in any field on any day.

Since the only predators they needed to fear hunted by sunlight, they kept to the pattern Alea had established, traveling by night and sleeping by day, Gar always by the campfire, Alea always in a tree twenty or thirty feet away, one of them always awake. The tree limbs were uncomfortable, and Alea began to find herself tempted more and more to sleep on the ground while Gar kept watch for danger, but she snapped herself out of the notion whenever she realized it had crept up on her. She reminded herself that no matter how gentle he seemed, he still couldn’t be trusted. After all, he was a man. The fourth night, the wild dogs found them.

False dawn had come, the sky pale and the world filled with the ghostly light that comes before the sun, all the more ghostly because mist was rising from the meadow they were crossing. They were just coming to the trees at its edge when they heard the baying and barking, approaching fast.

“Into a tree!” Gar told Alea, and turned to face the barking, pulling a sword from under his cloak.

Alea stared; she hadn’t realized he had the weapon. Then she shook off her surprise and retorted, “Will you climb, too?”

“Yes, if you do! Then we can throw sticks at them, at least.”

“All right, if you promise.” Alea scanned the trees quickly, picked one with a low limb, and was about to jump up when the barking burst much louder. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the pack charging straight at them.

Gar wouldn’t have time to climb. Fear clamored within her, but she spun and set her back against his, holding her staff up as he had taught her. “You’re lost by yourself!”

Gar spat the first curse she had heard him utter, then snapped, “Take a decent staff, then!” His own quarterstaff swung back; she dropped her stick and snatched his. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him draw a dagger; then the pack was on them.