She finished the bread and cheese, and he still had not made a move in her direction, only raised his cup to drink, then poured the stew into two bowls. She came close enough to take the mug of tea and sip, holding her improvised staff at guard and ready to run. “Why did you save me back there?”
“I don’t like seeing men manhandling women,” Gar told her. “I don’t like seeing six against one, either. I’ve been on the receiving end too often. By the way, my name is Gar Pike.”
Either the double meaning of the name was lost on her, or she was in no mood to laugh. She stood frowning at him, but didn’t offer her own name. Instead, she asked, “How did you know I’m not a murderer?”
“You might have been,” Gar allowed. “But more than anything else, you might have been some sort of slave who had managed to escape.”
“Think you know everything, don’t you?” she said darkly. Gar laughed, but managed to kept it low and soft. “Know everything? Enough to survive, at least. Beyond that? I don’t even know why I’m alive.”
The woman digested that, thought it over, then said, “Who does?”
“Married people,” Gar told her, “the ones who are in love, at least. And the ones who have children.”
She flinched; he could see he’d struck a nerve, and said quickly, “But I’m none of those, and probably won’t ever be.”
“Why?” She was suddenly intent.
“I’m too big for most,” Gar explained, “and too moody for the rest. Besides, if a man hasn’t married by thirty, there isn’t much chance that he will.”
It was more than true—in a medieval society. Again, she winced. He guessed her to be in her mid-thirties, though allowing for the medieval rate of aging, she could be younger, even in her late teens or early twenties.
“Why are you living, then?” She asked it with that same intensity, almost a hunger.
Gar shrugged. “Because I was born,” he said, “and I haven’t quite given up yet.”
She thought that statement over too, then gave her little nod once more.
“Back away,” Gar warned. “I’m bringing your stew to that rock.”
Her eyes widened, and she darted back into the forest, but stopped when she was fifty feet away, almost lost in the leaves. Gar moved slowly, keeping both hands in sight, rising and crossing to the rock where he’d left the bread and cheese. He set down the bowl and went back to his own place. As soon as he sat, she came back, much more quickly than she had the last time. Good, he thought. She’s remembering how to trust, at least a little.
She knelt, a broken branch ready in her left hand as she lifted the spoon with her right, darting quick glances at the bowl when she had to, but otherwise keeping her eyes on Gar. When she was done, they simply sat looking at one another for a while, and neither seemed to feel the need to be the last to look away. She frowned a little, studying him as though he were a problem she had to puzzle out, almost seeming not to notice his gaze, being too intent on watching him. Her eyes were large and gray and long-lashed, but haunted…
Gar realized he was holding his breath for some reason, and forced his mind back to business. All this staring was getting them nowhere and yielding no information. There wasn’t any need to hurry, of course, but Gar had a whole planet to analyze. Well, if she wanted help, she could ask for it.
He bent to empty the bucket and scrub it with grass and sand. “Coming to get your plate and mug,” he said, and she retreated again, but more slowly, and not as far. He brought back bowl, plate, and mug, stowed the gear in his pack, and scooped dirt on the campfire.
“Thank you,” she said, as though it were dragged out of her.
“A pleasure to help a fellow wanderer,” Gar said, “and it’s been another pleasure to meet you. You’re welcome to walk with me if you want. If you don’t, I wish you a safe journey.” He turned to start hiking again.
Alea watched him walk away, uncertain of her feelings, then started to follow, but fifty feet behind. After all, he seemed to be a genuinely gentle man.
If he was, though, he was the only one she’d ever met—other than her father, of course. She decided to reserve judgement, but her curiosity was aroused. She told herself that she was only interested in seeing if he really did prove to be gentle in the long run, then forced herself to admit that he was the only one she had met who wasn’t already taken, and he was taller than she was, too. If there was any safety for her in this wilderness at all, he was it—until he started expecting some sort of payment for his ‘protection’. But he had shown no interest in her as a woman, only as a person.
That didn’t mean that he wouldn’t, of course. She reminded herself that there was no real safety for her at all, anywhere. Still, something within told her that she could trust this man. She wondered why.
As she followed Gar down the road, Alea gathered berries and roots whenever she found them, so that she would have at least some food to offer in return for his. After perhaps half a mile, Gar glanced back and saw how haggard she was, how unsteady her gait. He halted, and she stumbled on for a few steps before she realized he had stopped. She yanked herself to stillness, suddenly completely awake and ready to run again.
“You’ve been traveling at night, haven’t you?” Gar asked. “I—I have, yes.”
“And you’re worn to the bone.” Gar turned off the road and used his staff to thrash a way through the underbrush. “Come, sit down while I pitch camp.”
Alea blinked, stupefied that a man would change his plans because of her. Then she managed to remember some realities and said, “The brush—they’ll see where it’s flattened…”
“They who?” Gar turned back. “That rabble who were bothering you? I’ll be very surprised if they stop running before nightfall.”
“If not them, there will be others!”
“Is it that bad, then?” Gar studied her, frowning. “Yes, I suppose it must be. If the giants have patrols in this no-one’s-land, why shouldn’t the… what did you call your people?”
“Not mine any more!” It came out much more harshly than Alea had intended, but she wasn’t about to back away from it.
Gar lifted his eyebrows in surprise, then nodded slowly—it would be very bad for him to undermine that realization. It must have been hard enough for her to admit, after all. “What shall I call them, then?”
“Midgarders,” she said though stiff lips.
“Midgarders it is. There’s that great a chance that another of their patrols will come by?”
“Every chance!”
“Then I’ll straighten the brush so that only a sharp eye will notice it’s been knocked aside. Walk carefully.”
Alea watched him for a second, wondering about the readiness of his agreement, then picked her way over the underbrush, trying not to tread any more down. Gar moved ahead as she came, until she was past the underbrush and into the relatively clear land under the shadow of the leaves. “I need a large tree, lad.”
“Really?” Gar looked about. “Larger than these?”
“No, that one will do.” Alea went over to an apple tree that must have been at least fifty years old. She was too tired to wonder what traveler had tossed aside an apple core in her grandfather’s day. She almost asked Gar for a boost up but caught herself in time, and scolded herself for being so quick to trust. She wondered why as she climbed.
She settled herself on a limb and glanced down to see Gar, thirty feet from the tree, staring up at her with anxious eyes. “Don’t worry.” She untied the rope from around her waist, cast it about the trunk and caught it, then tied it in front of her. “I won’t fall.”