“Or, for all we know, they might welcome us,” Gar pointed out.
“The stories also tell about wild-dog packs,” Alea said darkly, “many of them. I’m sure they’ll welcome us, too.”
“Four-legged predators can’t be any worse than the two-legged kind,” Gar countered, “and they tend to run in packs, too. As to the hazards of the wasteland, I’ve dealt with them before, and I can deal with them again. I’m willing to take the chance. Besides, is it any safer to stay here in no-one’s-land?”
“No-one’s-land!” Alea stamped her foot in anger. “Why can’t you say ‘no-man’s-land,’ like everyone else?”
“Because I don’t think the world has ever belonged just to men,” Gar said, “though we like to flatter ourselves that it has. It’s belonged at least as much to the women they marry, who raised the next generation of men, and women for them to marry. In fact, if there weren’t any women, there wouldn’t be any men, so the country has to belong to both of them—if it belongs to anybody at all.”
Alea stood stiff, bracing herself against the wind that was sweeping away all her old ideas of the world. Men and women own the land together! Men and women being equals! Her mind reeled at the thought, but her heart leaped.
Then she realized that Gar’s hand was on her shoulder, that she was leaning against it, and that he was looking down at her with concern, asking, “Are you well?”
She leaped away, striking out at his hand. “Don’t touch me! If I’m as good as you, I can demand that much, can’t I?”
“That, and a great deal more.” Gar shook his hand ruefully, backing away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to invade your privacy.”
The wind of concepts blasted her again, and Alea stood rigid against it. A man, telling a woman he was sorry when he wasn’t even in love with her? Worrying about her privacy? What kind of man was this, anyway, and what kind of world did he bring with him?
Whatever kind it was, she knew she wanted it. Her heart surged, and she yearned with all her being for this wonderful new vision Gar had given her. “I’ll go with you to the North Country,” she heard herself saying. “But mind you, you’ll have to teach me to protect myself. You can’t fight off a whole pack of wild dogs by yourself, you know.”
Gar’s smile was dazzling. “Done! You’ll have your first lesson at moonrise.”
Actually, they had to wait until the moon was above the trees at the edge of the river meadow they chose for their rest. Its light was a blessing—in the darkness, Alea was forever tripping in potholes and over boulders, even in the roadway. By moonlight, though, all the old tales about ghosts came flocking back to make her fearful, and there was no assurance that the dog packs wouldn’t come hunting by night, even though they were daytime animals, and so were the wild pigs. She felt much safer with Gar than she had before she met him, but the night still seemed haunted.
Now, though, Gar squared off from her and said, “European style first. Hold your staff in the middle, so your hands divide it into thirds, like this.” He held up his staff to guard position. “Now from here, you can block a blow from overhead just by bringing the stick up, from below by bringing it down, and from left or right by striking.” He demonstrated as he talked. “Now strike at me with your stick, and see how it works. Strike lightly, by the way—that dry branch won’t stand much of a blow. We’ll have to find you a better one soon.”
Exasperated by his self-assurance, Alea struck, probably harder than she should have. Gar’s staff snapped up to block, and at least Alea’s stick didn’t break. She took that to mean she hadn’t struck too hard after all, and swung up from below. Smiling, Gar dropped his staff to block again.
Alea began to grow a little angry. Determined to wipe that smile off his face, she struck from the right. Gar swung his own staff as he’d said, and the two knocked together. Alea realized she’d have to go through with the demonstration, so she struck from the left. Again, Gar blocked her stick.
“Now I’ll strike, and you block.” Gar saw the look of fright and belligerence on her face and said quickly, “I won’t swing very hard, of course, and very slowly. The point is to teach you, not to hit you. On guard!”
Alea brought her stick up as he had shown her.
“Not so high,” Gar warned. “You’re giving me too much target below the staff. Ready? Now!”
He moved his quarterstaff as though he were pushing his way through molasses. Alea swung hers up much more quickly, to block. Gar touched her stick hard enough for her to feel the blow, but not much more. Then he said, “From below, now. Guard!”
She lowered her stick to the level he had shown her, then dropped it down some more to catch the tip of his staff as it came up.
So it went for half an hour, with Gar showing her how to strike from left and right, then how to make a circle with the end of the staff in order to strike from above or below, then how to feint, starting a blow from above but changing it to left or right. By the time he called a halt, they were both breathing in gasps and covered with sweat.
“It’s not good to let the night chill us,” Gar told her. “I’ll kindle a fire.”
Soon after, they were sitting on opposite sides of the flames sipping tea. Alea wondered how long his supply would last, and hoped he had a lot of it—she was beginning to like the beverage.
Gar broke out biscuits and cheese and passed her some across and to the side of the flames. Alea took them, then realized how close she was to him. She felt a spurt of fright and almost moved farther away, then told herself that was silly—she’d been within arm’s reach of him for half an hour, and he hadn’t. Reached, that is. Besides, she was determined not to let him see she was afraid of him.
“You’re a quick learner,” Gar said. “and you move well. You must have danced a great deal.”
“Not as much as I would have liked.” The statement brought memories of village dances, and of herself watching as the boys chose other girls. But there had been the women’s dances, for May or other holidays, and she had loved the movements there. She had practiced by herself in her father’s barn where no one could see her, as often as she might, at least once a day. “How could you tell?”
“Coordination,” Gar said simply. “You always seem to be aware of your whole body, where each hand and foot is, every second. You’ll learn the staff quickly. Let the dog-packs of the North beware.”
He said it with such a joking air that Alea felt exasperated again. Didn’t he realize the dogs were real, genuine danger? “Why face them?” she demanded. “Why are you willing to take such a risk?”
Gar shrugged. “I can’t live in Midgard, except as a slave—I’m too tall. The giants won’t take me in because I’m too short, and I’m sure the dwarves would think I’m far too big. Where am I supposed to live?”
The question cut deeply into Alea. She, too, no longer had a home. Where did you go, if you fit nowhere? “Do you think there might be more like us in the North Country?”
“If there are, they’re far enough north so that word of them doesn’t seem to have come back to Midgard—unless the runaway slaves and criminals they tell of are really people of our own kind, too short to be giants but too tall to be Midgarders.”
“Or too small?” Alea sounded a little forlorn, even to her own ears, and wondered where the idea had come from. “Possibly, yes.” Gar seemed a little excited by the idea. Alea felt another touch of exasperation. His enthusiasm was infectious, but also draining. She countered it. “So there would be bands of people our size, and other bands about four feet high. They’d fight, wouldn’t they?”
“Perhaps not.” Gar gazed into the fire, face gone dreamy. “They might be so disgusted with the old nursery stories that they’d try to make peace. Besides, who says they might not all be in the same bands?”