Out of the woods stepped three people in broad-brimmed hats and loose trousers, their coats in grids of green and yellow. Three more like them rose from a ditch on the other side of the road. This close, Gar and Alea could see that some wore close-cropped beards without mustaches, while others were smooth-faced. Some of the beardless ones were clearly young men, others were clearly women.
All carried long flintlock rifles, every one of which seemed to be aimed at himself and Alea.
“That’s a tartan I don’t know,” said the eldest, a graybeard. “Where are you from, strangers, and what’s your clan?”
They both knew that the truth was best. “I’m a Pike from Maxima, and my companion is a Larsdatter,” Gar told him. “Never heard of ‘em.” The man eyed him with suspicion. “Where’s this Maxima?”
“Far away,” Gar told him. “Very far away.”
“Sure must be,” a young man said. “We’ve never heard of it!”
“You leave the talking to those who’re grown enough to have some wisdom; Jethro,” the graybeard said, never taking his eyes from Gar and Alea.
“Oh, all right, Uncle Isaac,” Jethro said, but he still glowered at Gar.
“He’s got a point, though,” said Uncle Isaac. “You must’ve come hundreds of miles.”
“You understand me well,” Gar said, nodding. “I can’t go home until I’ve found what I’m looking for.”
“Oh.” Jethro lowered his rifle. “We understand about wander years.”
“Don’t usually send our young folks off without full guard, though,” Uncle Isaac said suspiciously.
“It was my choice,” Gar said evenly, “and mine not to come home, if misfortune befell me.”
Gun barrels lowered amid exclamations of distress and sympathy.
“What was it, then, lad?” one young woman asked, eyes wide. “What hurt—”
“His business and none other’s!” said an older woman. “Ours not to pry, youngling.”
The young woman clamped her jaw shut, but her eyes burned with resentment.
“What of her, then?” A young man gave Alea a weighing glance that turned to a gleam.
“Indeed,” said Uncle Isaac. “What of you, young woman?”
“I am the last of my clan,” Alea said stiffly.
The clansfolk stared, and several voices murmured with sympathy.
“Ah well, no wonder you’re far from your birthplace, then!” said a woman whose hair was streaked with gray.
“You come home with us and get some food in your bellies,” said another woman with lustrous brown hair and only a few lines in her face. “Poor lass, you must be near starved.”
“She’s skinny enough,” said the young man with the hot eyes.
Gar turned to him with a smile that became a grin.
“Keep your eyes to yourself and your own, Eli,” the grayhaired woman snapped.
“As you say, Aunt Martha,” the young man said reluctantly. “I do say! No call for you to go looking elsewhere, with your Aura Lee to come home to.” Aunt Martha stepped forward, reaching out to Alea. “You come on along now, child. We’ll make you a pallet, and if it’s on the floor, at least it will be indoors and by a fire! How long’s it been since you slept with a roof over your head?”
“Her neighbors surely weren’t about to take her in,” one young woman said to another in a low voice.
“Aye, staying near when your clan is killed is inviting death,” her friend agreed.
“Sure is,” Jethro said. “It’s the same as being outlawed.” Expressions turned startled, then wary. Rifle barrels rose again.
“Jethro, I told you to leave the talking to those as have some sense!” Uncle Isaac blustered.
“Sole survivor’s only an outlaw if she’s close to home,” the brown-haired woman told Jethro scornfully.
“Well, she’s a woman, though,” Jethro grumbled. “Why hasn’t she married into another clan? If she’s journeyed so far, she’s had plenty of chances.”
“Maybe none of ‘em any more comely than you, though!” a young woman said, wrinkling her nose.
“Right enough, Sukey,” the brown-haired woman said, and to Jethro, “Could be she didn’t fall in love, you know.”
“Oh, didn’t she?” Jethro jerked his head at Gar. “Why’s she traveling with him, then?”
“Because she can trust me,” Gar told him, “and it’s safer to travel with a partner. But romance? Look at me, lad. Is this the kind of face to win a woman’s love?”
Jethro locked glares with him—so Gar didn’t see the longing look Alea gave him, quickly masked, nor the kindling glances of the younger clanswomen.
“No,” Jethro said with a contemptuous sneer. “Only a mother could love that face.”
“Handsome is as handsome does, fool!” Sukey jibed. “Then you must’ve done ugly work,” Jethro told Gar. “Ugly indeed,” Gar agreed, “as any fool could tell you.” Jethro’s sneer vanished. “Why a fool?”
“Because it would take a fool to call him out,” Uncle Isaac said, “a man that size.”
“Without a rifle?”
“Guns are for cowards.” Gar lifted his staff. “Any man with real courage would come at me with nothing more than this.”
“There’s truth in that, lad,” Aunt Martha said slowly, “but there’s folly, too. If you’re crossing a meadow and a Belinkun shoots at you, you’d best not go chasing him with nothing but a stick or he’ll shoot you dead.”
“If he has time to reload,” Gar said, his gaze locked with Jethro’s.
“Them Belinkuns never goes out alone,” Jethro said with scorn. “That’s almost as much folly as not carrying a rifle.”
“Why, so it is,” Gar said softly, “and now you’ll understand why the young lady travels with me even though we’re not in love.”
Jethro’s face went slack with surprise at the argument’s going full circle. The young women laughed.
“He’s got you there, Jethro!”
“He beat you by good sense!” Jethro reddened with embarrassment and anger.
“There’s no losing when people manage to make one another understand,” Gar said, “only winning—on both sides.” Jethro looked even more surprised at being offered away to save face. Then he gave a bitter laugh. “Tell that to the Belinkun clan!”
“Why, so I shall,” Gar said, speaking softly again, “if you’ll point me the way and give me a safe-conduct through your lands.”
The clan stared at him in surprise. Then Uncle Isaac laughed, stepping forward to clap him on the shoulder. “I believe you’d do it, too! But it would be the death of you, stranger; those Belinkuns are treacherous as snakes and twice as deadly!”
“I’ve dealt with snakes before,” Gar said evenly.
“Yes, but those snakes weren’t carrying rifles.”
Alea didn’t realize she’d grown tense until she relaxed. She turned to the young women, lifting an eyebrow in exasperation. “Now that the bulls have stopped pawing the ground, maybe we can talk clearly to one another.”
“I always did like to watch a good bullfight,” Aunt Martha said with a grin. She put an arm around Alea’s shoulders. “You come home with us now, lass, and maybe we can get the men to be civil long enough to eat dinner.”
The travelers thought they were still among fields when a minor mob burst caroling from a grove.
“Daddy! Did you shoot me a deer?”
“Mama, Mama! What’s for dinner?”
“Uncle Silas, did you fight another bear?”
“Mommy, did you shoot me that new hat?”
“No, dear.” The brown-haired woman ruffled a little boy’s hair with a fond smile. “The raccoons don’t come out till night.”
“They might have stepped out in the daylight just to oblige you,” Jethro said, “but this big galoot scared ‘em away, he’s so ugly.”
The children saw the strangers and fell silent, their eyes growing round.