Alea shrugged. “What good would it do me? As you say, people don’t travel alone. What good is one rifle against two—or five or six?”
“Better than none,” the man said, frowning.
“Worse than none,” Alea countered. “If people see you’re unarmed, they know you mean no harm.” The man and woman exchanged a glance. “She’s got a point,” the man allowed.
“She has,” the woman said, and turned back to Alea. “I’m Hazel Gregor.”
“Alea Larsdatter.” Alea proffered a hand.
Hazel took it. “We have furs and pretty pebbles to trade, and if you don’t want any of those, at least we can give you dinner and a bed for the night. Come on along to the Big House, now, and let’s see what you’ve got to trade with.”
“Thank you.” Alea relaxed a little and followed her back to their homestead, leaving the man on guard.
More sentries stepped out, alert and with rifles at the ready, as Alea and Hazel came up the track toward the house. When they saw Hazel, though, they waved and faded back into the shrubbery.
“Are they always on guard?” Alea asked.
“No, we take turns,” Hazel said. “We change the guard every four hours.”
“All your lives?”
“Of course,” Hazel said, surprised. “We wouldn’t want the Mahons to catch us napping.”
Alea thought of spending her life that way and hid a shudder. The Big House shouldered up above the trees, and Alea wondered why they called it “big.” It couldn’t have been more than fifty feet long, with two stories and an attic. Then they came past the trees and Alea saw the dozen single-story dwellings clustered around it in a circle, and understood. None could have been wider than twenty feet.
“The married folk live in the small houses?”
Hazel nodded. “Grandma and Grandpa live in the Big House with the bachelor folk and widowed ones. Keeps everybody more in line, and the old folks don’t get lonely.”
Alea wondered how impatient the young folk became, wondered also if any married simply to gain homes of their own. They came into the grassy circle between the houses to find two cows grazing amid sheep and goats. Boys and girls of ten and twelve stood watch over them, looking bored, with the help of a few dogs. Older men and women were doing chores—planing boards, polishing rifles, churning butter, casting bullets, and so on. They looked up with interest at the stranger. Then they saw the pack on her back, dropped their tools, and hurried forward. They converged on the double door of the big house. “She a peddler?” asked a sixtyish man.
“That I am,” Alea replied. “What have you to trade?”
“Some carvings,” the old man said.
A woman near him said, “Carvings indeed! They’re the sweetest statues you’ll ever see. Me, I’ve some pretty pebbles I’ve been saving for a necklace. You go on in, missy, and I’ll run and find them.”
“I’ll be eager to see them,” Alea said politely, then went through the door.
They came into the keeping room—a central chamber about thirty feet long and twenty wide, furnished with plain wooden chairs and tables, lovingly finished with a glow that betokened many hours of rubbing with oil and wax. They had an economy of design, sweeping planes and flowing curves that took Alea’s breath away. A few chairs were cushioned, and the armchair by the fire was padded and upholstered, for in it sat an old man with white beard and hair, wrinkled face, and keen bright eyes that inspected Alea thoroughly at a glance and delivered a verdict on her suitability to be in Grandpa’s house. Apparently the verdict was positive, because the old man said, “Welcome, stranger.”
Hazel led Alea over to him. “Grandpa, this is Alea. She’s a peddler.”
“And a brave one, if she takes to the roads by herself with no rifle,” Grandpa said.
Hazel turned to Alea. “This is Grandpa Esau Gregor.”
“Welcome in my home,” the old man said. “What kind of pretties have you brought us, child?”
“Oh, ribbons and pins and needles,” Alea said. “Some nutmeg, too, and cinnamon and pepper. Then there’s jewelry from some clans I’ve traded with, and pretty pots and cups.”
“Don’t know as how another clan can do any better than my own children,” Grandpa opined, “but it’s nice to have a reminder that there are other folks out there besides the Mahons.” He grimaced at the name. “Let’s see your stock.”
Alea gladly shrugged out of her pack and lowered it to the hearth as the clansfolk gathered around. She was just opening the buckles when she heard the groan.
The outlaws crowded close to admire and touch. One young man hung back, though. He was tall and lean, looking to be made of whipcord—whipcord and straw, for his hair was so pale as to be nearly white. But his jacket was made of leather, fringed and decorated with colored quills, and he held a half-fletched arrow in one hand and a small knife in the other, as though he had come running in the middle of a task.
“Take a look!” Gar called to him. “Do I have anything you’d want to trade for?”
“Yeah, Kerlew,” one of the women said, her tone mocking, “you’d best sniff the spices, since all you’re fit for is cooking.” Kerlew flushed.
“Be fair, Elise,” Rowena said, but she smiled. “He’s a dab hand with a needle, too, and the peddler’s got plenty of those.” Gar frowned. “Who elected him chief cook and bottlewasher?”
“Why, what else can he do?” Elise jibed. “He’s a coward!”
“Too scared even to go hunting for anything bigger ‘n a squirrel,” another outlaw agreed, “though he doesn’t mind skinning the beasts and tanning their hides, so we know it’s not being squeamish about death.”
Kerlew reddened more. “There’s a deal of difference between killing a deer and taking its coat, Enoch!”
“Oh, sure,” Enoch said. “Not much danger of being gored by an antler, when you’re skinning one that’s already dead.”
“He knows how to hide good, though, don’t he?” another man jibed.
“And how to duck,” Elise agreed.
“How well does he fight if you’re attacked?” Gar asked quietly.
An uncomfortable silence settled over the clearing. Then Rowena said, “The clans haven’t come against us yet, peddler, but that’s what got you cast out in the first place, isn’t it, Kerlew? Refusing to go out to fight the Gainty clan.”
“I fought well enough when they ambushed us!” Kerlew retorted.
“Oh, aye, when it was kill or be killed,” Enoch sneered. “Sure, you fought like a cornered rat.”
“So,” Gar said, still quietly, “you have no problem with defending yourself and your clan—only with visiting death and misery on your neighbors.”
“So I said,” Kerlew said hotly, “and for that they cast me out! Why would I turn against people now that I’m outcast?”
“Why, for a living, boy,” Lem said impatiently.
“I can find enough nuts and berries for that,” Kerlew retorted, “aye, and kill to eat, if I have to.”
“You just don’t like the feel of it when they die, do you?” Gar asked.
Kerlew reddened again. “There’s enough dying already. Why add to it?”
Gar wondered if the boy was a latent telepath.
“Not much point in keeping one like that around, is there?” Rowena asked Gar. “But we won’t cast him out. Outlawing once is bad enough, but outlawing from outlaws?”
“Any who need shelter with us should have it,” Elise agreed. “That’s very charitable of you,” Gar said slowly.
Kerlew turned crimson and started a retort.
“But he will fight if the clans come against you,” Gar said, “You’ve heard him say so—and if they do, you’ll need every rifle you can muster.”