As their hosts led them back to their cottage, Gar noticed a man stopping by the box on the post but it wasn’t a bit of copper he dropped in, it was a white chip of wood with some marks on it. Gar listened to his thoughts and was surprised to feel the man’s satisfaction at that overbearing Orlo having his comeuppance. Intrigued, Gar wished he could stay to see who emptied the box.
When the cottage was quiet and Alea and Gar lay on opposite sides of the hearth on pallets of clean straw covered with sheepskins, she thought as clearly as she could,
What else was I supposed to do, then? I had to make the story one they would accept!
You did beautifully, Gar assured her, and pardon my laughter. It was a most amazing transformation. I can hardly wait to hear your version of Ragnorak.
Alea felt a bit better about it. She told herself it was only because such an exchange of thoughts was a useful exercise in telepathy; she had practiced daily with Gar aboard ship, but this was a very different order of things indeed.
No doubt I shall have Heimdall play his horn for a dance, and have Tyr teach the Fenris Wolf to sit up and shake paws. Alea’s thought had a sardonic overtone. Still, I cannot help but wonder what sort of land this is if they do not know what theft is, nor wish to hear of strife between two villages.
A pleasant relief from most of the worlds I have visited, Gar thought. One grows tired of bloodshed—very tired indeed. But what do you make of their insistence that Odin had no right to give orders to Thor, once he was grown?
I rather agree with it, Alea thought back, and even more with the notion that Freya had as much business being in the story as Odin. I would guess these people are pagans of a sort, but rather more efficient about it than my own people.
If they are content with only one god and one goddess, certainly, Gar thought back. Of course, the irreverent might say they were too poor to afford more.
Irreverent indeed! Alea thought indignantly. I will be interested in learning more about their religion. From what I’ve seen here, I would guess the god and goddess are evenly matched. Did you notice that both men and women tilled the fields, and both seemed to prepare dinner?
I did notice, Gar thought. Perhaps they’re doing something radical, such as deciding that the one who has more talent for cooking should prepare the meals.
Or perhaps they simply take turns! Alea snapped in return, then wondered why his statement irritated her. Quite possibly, Gar agreed. In any event, if they believe parents should not command their children once they are grown and think men and women should be equal in authority, I cannot help but think this is a most astonishingly egalitarian society.
If there is a government, Alea said, it is a government of equals.
That is, at least, the theory of democracy, Gar said, though if these people have a central government over all the villages, I certainly saw no sign of it today.
Well, when they’ve never heard of a king and think it odd that someone would give orders to others, I would doubt they have any government at all.
There must be one somewhere, Gar thought, and Alea peered between her lashes to see his face screwed up in concentration. No society can survive without a government.
A village can, Alea reminded him, only a hundred people or so. When everyone knows everyone else, they need only sit around and talk over their issues.
Yes! A government! Gar exulted. A town council! Alea smiled, amused. Well, if that’s all you need, I’m sure you’ll find many of them in this land.
I would like something a bit more elaborate, Gar confessed.
But what of the bandits? Alea frowned. Don’t these people understand how much of a threat General Malachi is? They seem to be quite content to leave him to the Scarlet Company, whatever and whoever it is, Gar thought grimly. I just hope he doesn’t do too much damage before they learn otherwise.
Alea shuddered and forced her thoughts into less troubling channels. Odd that these people don’t think of the bandits as stealing.
No, Gar agreed. When a bandit does it, they call it plundering, and I suppose that is different from one of your fellow villagers taking something that belongs to you.
And when bandits fight villagers, they call it bullying. Alea mused. True enough, but I think it misses the horror of what a band of brutes like that can do.
May their god and goddess grant they never learn!
I think we may have to take a hand with that, Alea answered. Who knows? Perhaps we only thought it was our idea to come here at this time.
Perhaps so. But Gar’s tone was amused. All we can do is try to achieve harmony with whatever Power there is and trust that we will act as it wishes.
Alea frowned, wondering if he was mocking her—but there was too much sincerity behind the terms he used and too much uncertainty as to what form that Power took. A mocker would have given them a name and form to lampoon.
Somewhat reassured, she settled herself for sleep and thought, Well, perhaps we can’t do anything about it, but talking makes the troubles seem smaller.
A problem shared is a problem halved, Gar agreed. Good night, Alea.
Good night, Gar. Alea smiled as she curled a little tighter on her pallet and, before sleep claimed her, wondered why the conversation had been so reassuring.
The villagers were troubled to see Gar and Alea leave the next day and reminded them several times to beware of General Malachi. They did make sure the peddlers carried a good lunch with them, though.
They left a little after dawn, so they were several miles away when the bandit patrol found them in midmorning.
Gar heard their thoughts several miles away, of course, and told Alea, but didn’t start fully cringing until they were only half a mile distant. She could hear their thoughts clearly and didn’t like what she heard when they came in sight of her.
There were six of them, and the leader cried “Halt!” as he drew up in front of her. One of his men stopped beside him, but the other four went past her, two taking up station behind the pair, with one to either side.
“No seven-footer here, Sergeant,” one of the men pointed out.
Gar stared up at him fearfully, then frowned, pointing from one horse-hoof to another and saying, “One … two … three … five … six … No!” He turned his finger back to the first horse and started over. “One … two … three … four … six … No! One … two … three … four … six … No…”