“Dumi would turn away from any who did not help women,” a basso rumbled, “and Freya’s wrath would strike any who did not rescue mothers. We will send a score of giants to guard them. Tell us when their men come in sight.”
The screen jumped, and Herkimer’s voice said, “This is happening now.”
On the screen, the bandit women were running between the pairs of female giants in a line of a dozen, with the women standing two by two to reassure their smaller equivalents. The bandits came charging pell mell after them, then saw the giants and stopped dead. One giant stepped forward, hands up in a placating gesture, talking.
The voice of the sentry said, “Retsa is talking to them. She is explaining that their women still love them, but are no longer willing to be beaten, or to see their children knocked about, or be commanded to do all the drudgery while the men take their ease. She is telling them they can win back their wives if they learn to treat them well—and if they are willing to be married by a priestess of Freya.”
Alea clapped her hands in delight.
“A new source speaks,” Herkimer informed them, “with high power, low frequency, and long waves.”
Gar frowned. “That sounds like a broadcast designed to reach as far as possible—but how many people have radios in Midgard?”
“I shall search for signs of listeners, Magnus.”
“What’s the voice saying?” Alea asked.
“We will join it in progress,” Herkimer said.
A voice that sounded for all the world like a Midgarder spoke. “…walked across the Rainbow Bridge, and no one offered to stay him from his quest. Thus Thummaz came to Asgard, He strode into Valhalla and the women of the Aesir exclaimed to one another at his beauty, but the men began to speak bitterly in jealousy.”
“There,” Herkimer said, and the picture jumped again to show a knot of Midgarders, some very tall and others very short, all dressed in worn and ragged clothing, huddled together around a cooking fire, but there were no gestures, no signs of speech. All heads were bowed, all eyes on a small, flat, gray box that lay on the ground in their center.
“So Loki came up behind Thummaz, and struck him on the head,” the voice was saying. “He fell, and Tiw stepped forward with a war-axe, to hew…”
“That voice must be a giant’s child, Midgarder-sized,” Gar said quickly.
“Or a dwarf’s,” Herkimer responded.
They had meant well, but not quickly enough. Alea had heard the description, and felt a bit queasy. The speaker was making the tale far more detailed than Gar had.
In the picture, an overseer started toward the group of slaves. One of them looked up, spoke a single word, and a hand snaked out to make the radio disappear as the whole group burst into conversation.
“How did they get a radio?” Gar asked, staring.
“It has been three months since we visited the giants,” Alea reminded him.
“Shortly after your visit, the giants and dwarves began to discuss the plan by radio,” Herkimer told them. “It took me a while to decipher their code, to realize that a ‘toe of Thummaz’ was a slave and a ‘talisman’ was a radio receiver—but decipher it I did. The dwarves manufactured hundreds of receivers very quickly—apparently a much easier task than a transceiver—and gave some to merchants to take to the giants, but found ways to give others to slaves all along the western border of Midgard. They passed from hand to hand. Within a year, I suspect there will be at least one in every village.”
“Thus it has begun,” Gar said quietly.
“What? The peace between the three nations that your stories are supposed to bring us?” Alea rounded on him. “You’re foolish if you think that! At the most, the giants and the dwarves may manage to steal most of the slaves, but there will be more born, and more! Besides, their raids will only make the Midgarders’ hate burn hotter. They will set their minds to discovering new weapons and new strategies for fighting the giants, you may be sure of that! Then as dwarves and giants are killed in the fighting, they will begin to hate, too!”
“Dwarves and giants have always died fighting Midgarders,” Gar reminded her. “If they die in raids rather than in defense, they will at least be able to understand why. Then, when the Midgarders discover that enslaving new people draws giant raiding parties, they will finally begin to exile all instead of enslaving some. Slavery will die out, though it will take twenty years or more. Gradually, they will learn to do their own work, and will have less time to spare for raiding.”
“But they will hate more than ever!”
“Yes.” Gar nodded heavily. “That will take two or three generations of telling new tales to eradicate—of tales, and of trading with the North Country for the ores and plants and dwarf-made goods that they can’t find in Midgard.”
“They have always gained such things, by raiding! Oh…” Alea frowned, turning her gaze away, thinking. “You really believe the Midgarders will stop raiding, don’t you?”
“They will be too busy defending against attacks by the giants and dwarves,” Gar agreed, “and within twenty years, they’ll have a new enemy, too.”
“A new enemy?” Alea looked up, frowning. Then her face cleared. “Of course! We have shown the North Country how to unite, haven’t we?”
“Yes, we have.” Gar’s eyes glowed at her. “The bandit women will never forget how the giants have helped them regain their self-respect, protecting them against their menfolk until the men learn to treat them as the giants treat their women. The mothers will tell that to their sons and daughters, and tell them the stories of Freya and Dumi and Thummaz…”
“And the children will grow up to think the giants and dwarves are their friends!” Alea cried.
Gar grinned, nodding. “Midgard may take a century or more to learn tolerance, but the separate limbs of Thummaz will be gathered in the North Country, and breathe new life into a new people who value all their offspring, no matter their size. Eventually, those stories will be told in Midgard, too—they will begin in Freya’s temples, I think. Give it enough time, and even Midgarders will begin to think of giants and dwarves as friends.”
“But will the other nations be ready to befriend them?” Alea countered.
“If they tell the tales we’ve left them and make up as many new ones as I think they will—yes.”
Alea leaped up. “Come! I want to go out and see if the world has changed already!”
Gar laughed, sharing her delight, and followed her back down the ramp.
The day had waned as they watched history being made in the big picture aboard the ship. They came out into moonlight and night, with insects shrilling all about them and the cool breeze filling the land with the odors of living.
Alea drew them in, breathing deeply. “It’s in the air already, new life and new ways!” she cried. “We must go out to help it be born!”
Gar saddened. “If you must, then of course you must. But I must go.”
Alea whirled, staring at him, feeling betrayed, and deeply. “Go? But why?”
“I’m a catalyst,” Gar explained, “something that starts a change but can’t really be a part of it. You can—this is your world—but I cannot.”
Alea searched his face, not understanding.
“What would I do if I stayed?” Gar asked with a touch of impatience. “Lead a band of giants? Why should they listen to my orders? Why should the dwarves? Oh, I could form an army of bandits, but what good would that do? They will manage their own armies without me, and I wish to bring less death, not more. No, your people can do all that needs to be done by themselves. They have no need of me. There’s nothing more I can do here.”