“That can’t be very comfortable,” Gar said doubtfully. “It’s not,” she assured him, “but I’ll manage to sleep. I’ve done it for three days now.”
“No wonder you’re almost dead on your feet. Why not sleep on a bed of pine boughs on the ground?”
Instantly, her whole body waked to fight or flee. Was he trying to lure her down? “There are packs of wild dogs in this wilderness, lad, or so rumor says. Haven’t you seen them?”
“Not yet,” Gar said slowly—but what she said made sense. The continent, having been terraformed and Terran colonized, had no native predators, only breeds of Terran domestic animals. People who had tired of their pets, or found they couldn’t afford to feed them, had probably taken them out into the country and abandoned them. Eventually they would have found one another and formed packs. Farmers would have killed most of them as menaces to the livestock and even people, but some would have escaped to this buffer zone between kingdoms.
“There are wild pigs, too,” she told him, “herds of a dozen or more each, and the boars have grown tusks.”
Reverting to the wild indeed! Gar wondered how the pigs had escaped, but he knew they were smart animals when they cared to stir themselves. “I can see the advantage of your tree.”
“Not comfortable, but safe,” Alea told him.
Gar reflected that she would be safe from predators indeed, would even have some measure of safety from the two-legged kind—bandits were less likely to notice her when she was up in a tree, and the height of her perch would give her an advantage if they started climbing after her.
“Hadn’t you better climb up, yourself?” Alea asked.
“No, I think the fire will keep them away,” Gar said. “If I see them lurking, there will be time to climb.” He didn’t mention that he could make sure pigs and dogs both stayed away by inserting fearful thoughts into their brains. “Are there wild cattle, too?”
“Yes, but they’ll usually leave you alone if you leave them alone. What if your fire goes out?”
“It won’t, if I tend it.” Gar turned away. “First, though, I’ll cover our trail.”
Alea let her eyes close, head nodding heavily. Then a sudden thought brought her wide awake again. “What will you do while I sleep?” she called.
Gar turned back and smiled up at her. “Why, I’ll keep watch, of course. When I can’t keep my eyes open, I’ll wake you for your turn as sentry.”
Alea braced herself. “How shall you wake me?”
Gar looked about, then guessed, “Little green apples?” Alea thought that over, then said, “That will do. Not my face, all right?”
“I’ll aim for your leg,” Gar assured her.
That bothered her, oddly, but she could find no reason to complain. “Well enough, then. Good night. Good morning, I mean.”
“Good night this morning.” Gar grinned and started to turn away.
“Lad?”
He turned back. “Aye?”
Again reluctantly: “Thank you. For standing watch, I mean.”
“I’m glad to do it,” Gar said. “Journeying is lonely work otherwise.” He turned and went before she could answer. What would she have said anyway, especially since his words waked alarm in her again? She told herself that was foolish and closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the trunk. There wasn’t room enough, so she loosened the rope, slid forward, then tied it again. Now she leaned back. Exhausted as she was, her mind buzzed with questions, and sleep seemed slow in coming. Alea found herself wondering what horrors could have made a man lose interest in sex—or had he simply been raised to respect women? Or even more simply, was he just a good man by nature?
She told herself sternly not to think that for a second. There was no such thing as a good man, and that way lay the nightmare.
As a last thought, she tucked her skirts under her legs, then leaned her head back again and let weariness claim her. It came in a flood, and she was asleep.
Gar covered their trail with expert touches and settled down to meditate, reflecting that one of the predators she feared was certainly him. He wondered what traumas had made her so wary of other people—especially men. Since she’d been a slave, the answer seemed clear, but he had a notion it went deeper than the last week or two. For a moment, he was tempted to probe her sleeping mind, to sift through her memories, but he banished the idea as quickly as it had come. His parents had taught him the ethics of mindreading, and as he had grown, he had weighed their teachings and decided they were true. He wouldn’t allow himself to read a friend’s mind without a very good reason. He wouldn’t even read an enemy’s mind, unless it was necessary to save his own life, or someone else’s. If the enemy were ruthless, the situation usually became severe enough to warrant the intrusion sooner or later, but even so, Gar felt he had to wait until the danger was clear and present. No, he wouldn’t read Alea’s mind—but he would listen carefully to what she said, put clues together, and see if he could piece out what had happened to her, so that he would know how to behave in order to help her.
Assuming, of course, that she chose to keep traveling with him.
Alea woke, feeling stiff and groggy, then saw the gloom about her. Her eyes flew wide open with panic. She throttled it, looked down—and saw him, sitting by a small, smokeless fire with his little kettle steaming.
She relaxed—he was there, but still keeping his distance. Then anger began, and she nursed it, treasuring the feeling, believing it gave her some strength. She untied herself, wrapped the rope about her waist and tucked it, then climbed down.
Gar looked up at the sound as she jumped to the earth. “Did you sleep well, then?”
“Too well!” She strode toward him, staff swinging. “You said you’d wake me for my turn as sentry!”
“I didn’t grow sleepy. Probably will around midnight, but I’ll manage to keep going until dawn.” He took the kettle from the fire and poured boiling water into the two mugs. “That will have to brew a few minutes.”
Alea halted, glowering at him, wondering how you scolded someone for being generous. It was a new problem for her; no one had gone out of the way for her since she’d turned fifteen—no one except her parents, at least, and she certainly couldn’t have scolded them. She let the issue go with bad grace, sitting on a boulder, legs tucked so that she could rise quickly, and took the mug when he offered it.
Gar saw that she was almost within arm’s reach, and didn’t seem to have noticed. Of course—if she had, she’d have moved farther away, and rather quickly, too. His heart sang with the elation of accomplishment.
“Where are you going?” Alea asked abruptly. “Other than away from Midgard, I mean.”
“I’ve met the giants,” Gar said slowly, “at least, a giant patrol, and that’s as much as I’m going to see of them without visiting one of their villages. I’m not sure that would be wise just yet.”
“Visit the giants!” Alea put down her mug, staring at him. “Are you mad?”
Gar cocked his head to the side. “Why would that be mad?”
“Because they’d kill you as soon as look at you!”
“They didn’t,” Gar told her. “The few I met on the road yesterday seemed quite peaceable. Ready to fight if I offered it, but ready to talk, too. They told me, rather sadly, that they couldn’t take me in, though—I’m too short!” He chuckled. “I haven’t been told that since I was ten.”
With wonder, Alea said, “Why—they were gentle with me, too, the patrol. And you’re right, they almost seemed sorry they couldn’t take me—that I was too short too, and not likely to grow because I was too old.” Her face tightened. “I’ve been told the last often enough, but never the first.” Then she turned thoughtful again. “Why should I still think them monsters?”