“Yes,” Gar said slowly. “A future battle would look much like a past one, wouldn’t it?” Unless someone invented a machine gun. He shuddered at the thought.
“Gunfire is gunfire,” Kerlew said. “But how do these ghosts expect you to stop the fighting?”
“Invent a law banning feuds, and have the outlaws carry word of it to all the clans.”
“They’d be shot dead in their tracks!”
“Not if the Old Ones protected them. At least, that’s what the ghosts said.”
Kerlew turned thoughtful, then nodded judiciously. “That’s so. All it would need would be one elf-shot at a man taking aim at a courier and he’d be left alone. Word would run through the clans like wildfire.” He turned back to Gar. “Your couriers would have to carry a white flag, of course.”
Gar stared at him. “You’re taking this seriously!”
“Why not? It’s what I’ve wanted my whole life—what I was cast out for speaking of. But who would punish a whole clan that broke your law?”
“Again, the Wee Folk—or so said your ancestors.”
“The clans might heed the Old Ones at that,” Kerlew said thoughtfully. “Surely they wouldn’t all drop dead at a fairy’s word, but if one after another died or went spastic, they’d mark what the Old Ones said.” He turned back to Gar, hope alight in his eyes. “What law would you make?”
“That,” Gar said, “is the flaw in the scheme. I haven’t the faintest idea.”
Kerlew stared at him, the flame of hope guttering, but before it could turn to ashes, the game trail broke out into an actual road, and they saw a dozen clansfolk coming toward them.
“Outlaw!” the strangers cried, and rifles leveled at them, but one of the women cried, “Gar!” and ran to meet him. Staring, Gar saw Alea, and just had time to wonder if the Old Ones had been directing his steps before she threw her arms about him and pressed her head into his shoulder. “Thank Heavens we’ve met!”
“I don’t think it was Heaven who brought it about.” Gar smiled down at her. “But whoever it was, I’m very grateful to them.”
Alea stepped away from him, beaming up into his face. “I’ve so much to tell you!”
“Lady, is he to be trusted?” asked one of the older clansfolk. “With my life.” She spun to face them. “He’s a healer, too.” Kerlew looked up at him in surprise.
“More than that.” Moira stepped forward, a weird, distant look on her face. “This is the other I’ve foreseen, the second of the two who will knit up the wounds of war and bring peace to this poor, sad world.”
“Is he indeed!” cried Rowena.
“A peace-preacher? We can’t have that!” cried another. “Outlaw!” cried a third. “His clan has cast him out for weakening their wills to fight!”
But they spoke with too much force or too little, eyeing one another out of the corners of their eyes to make sure their protests were noticed. It didn’t take telepathy for Gar and Alea to realize that hope soared in most of their breasts when they heard Moira’s prophecy. Only a few of the younger ones spoke with the fire of zeal, and one of the older ones with the flaring of hatred.
“This is my companion, Kerlew,” Gar said, gesturing to the young man.
“A pleasure to meet you, Kerlew.” Alea turned back to beckon. “And this is my companion, Moira.”
A young, dark-haired woman came forward with a tentative smile, eyeing the two men warily.
Kerlew stared at her, and Gar was suddenly sure nothing else seemed to exist for the young man.
Moira frowned at him as though wondering if he’d lost his wits. Then her eyes widened and she stared even as he did. Alea smiled, amused. “I think they’ll get along.” She turned back to her escort. “Thank you so much for your protection, Rowena, but I’ll be safe enough now.”
“With only two men to guard you?” Rowena cried, scandalized. “And one of them an outlaw?”
“And the other not even carrying a rifle,” one of the younger men said, lip curling.
“He can do more without a rifle than most men can with one.” Alea smiled. “Don’t worry, I’ll be perfectly safe.”
“A man who can outfight a rifle barehanded?” The young man grinned. “This I’d like to see!”
“No you don’t,” Rowena barked. “Back into place, now!” She turned to Alea, uncertain. “Are you sure, Lady Healer?”
“I am, Rowena.” Alea rested a hand on Gar’s arm, smiling. “Thank you for bringing us here, but there’s no reason to take you away from your homestead any longer. May you have a good journey home.”
“If you say so,” Rowena said dubiously, then glared at Gar. “If any harm comes to her, lad, you’ll have three clans to answer to!”
“She’ll be as safe as though she were in a fortress,” Gar assured Rowena solemnly.
“All right, then, we’ll leave you with her.” Rowena turned to press Alea’s hand. “Long life to you, lady!”
“And to you, Lady Warrior.” Alea smiled. “And tell Achalla I wish her long life, and your clan prosperity.”
“I shall.” Rowena couldn’t help a smile. “Farewell, then.” They watched the clan out of sight. Then Alea spun to Gar. “Now! Tell me everything you’ve seen, face to face, for there’s so much you leave out of your thoughts!” Then she remembered their company and glanced to see if either Kerlew or Moira had heard—but they were still staring at one another, just beginning to move again. Alea smiled and drew Gar far enough away so that the others wouldn’t hear unless they stopped talking, which she didn’t expect. “Now!” She folded her legs, sitting down on the grass and tucking her skirts under her. “You’re looking like a man with a weird. What has happened to make you so?”
“Only dreams,” Gar said slowly, and began to tell her about the Old Ones, then about the Keepers and, finally, about his dream.
When he finished, Alea nodded soberly, thinking.
“It does make sense,” Gar admitted. “Since the feuds started when the law broke down, re-establishing law is the only chance of ending the feuds. The problem, of course, is to invent a law that the clans would all accept, when there is no law that binds them all.”
“Oh, there is,” Alea said slowly, “but they no longer respect it.”
“They will if it’s enforced by elves and fairies,” Gar said, frowning. “What sort of law is this?”
15
“Religious law,” Alea said.
Gar stared. “You mean they have a religion? I haven’t seen many signs of it.”
“You’ve been going among the bandits,” Alea said. “I’ve been going from homestead to homestead as a healer, so I met a priest who had also come to heal. He taught me a few techniques and quite a bit about the local herbs, too.”
“Did he really! And what sort of priest is he?”
“A Druid,” Alea said, “though I suspect the religion he practices has grown in ways that the Druids of Caesar’s time wouldn’t recognize.”
“Still, religion is religion,” Gar said, frowning in thought, “and if it’s devoted to goodness and growth, it’s a tremendous binding force for a people.”
“Devoted to goodness and growth? It is.”
“But if they had that much law to hold them together, how did the feuds start?”
“Because they stopped believing in their gods,” Alea said, “and began to think of their myths as only charming fairy stories for their children.”
“Fairy stories…” Gar gazed off into space. “But fairies are real here, and elves, too. I haven’t met anyone who doesn’t believe in them—including me.”
“And me,” Alea said with a smile, then realized the thrust of his thought. “You’re saying the Druids should include the Old Ones in their religion! Then the clans would have to believe in it!”