When he finally left, walking steadily except for his limp, Dapple said, "I have sworn to myself, I will put him in a play some day. That is what a hero is really like. I’ll have to make up a new story, of course. His life has not been tragic. He’s never had to make difficult choices, and everything he’s wanted–fame, the affection of his relatives, the love of Cholkwa–has come into his hands."
Well, thought Haik, she was certainly learning new things. The man had not seemed like a hero to her.
The next evening, they did the play a second time. The warehouse was packed, and Ettin Taiin was in the audience again. Haik watched him as he watched the play, his expression intent. Now and then, he laughed, showing white teeth. One was missing, an upper stabber. Doubtless it had been lost in battle, like his eye and his leg’s agility. Haik’s male relatives fought nothing except the forest predators, which were not especially dangerous. When men died in the forest, it was usually from small creatures that had a poisonous bite or sting; or they died from accidents. Old people told stories about pirates, but none had attacked the northeast coast in more than a generation. The Tulwar feared water and storms.
Now, Haik thought, she was in the south. War was continuous here; and lineages vanished from existence, the men killed, the women and children adopted. A family that lacked soldiers like Ettin Taiin would not survive.
This idea led nowhere, except to the thought that the world was full of violence, and this was hardly a new thought. In front of her, Dapple tripped over the sul’s long dragging penis and tumbled into a somersault, which ended with her upright once again, the penis wound around her neck. The audience hooted its approval. The world was full of violence and sex, Haik thought.
Once again the captain joined them at the inn. This time he drank less and asked questions, first of the actors, then of Haik. Where exactly was her family? What did they produce besides pots?
"Are you planning to invade us?" she asked.
He looked shocked. "I am a soldier, not a bandit, young lady! I only fight with people I know. The purpose of war is to expand the size of one’s family and increase the amount of land held by one’s kin. That should always be done along existing borders. You push out and push out, gathering the land and the women and children immediately beyond your borders, making sure the land is always contiguous and protected–if possible–by natural barriers. Any other strategy leaves you with a territory that is not defensible."
"He’s not planning to invade you," Dapple said in summary. "Your land is too far away."
"Exactly," the captain said. "Bandits and pirates use different tactics, since they want valuable objects rather than land and people. We’ve had both in the south and dealt with them."
"How?" asked Haik.
"The obvious way is to find where they came from, go there and kill all the men. The problem is, you have to do something with the bandit women and children. They can’t be left to starve. But obviously no family wants members with bad traits."
"What do you do?"
"Adopt them, but spread them among many houses, and never let any of them breed. Often, the children turn out well; and after a generation, the traits–bad or good–are gone. This, as you can imagine, is a lot of work, which is a reason to kill enough men so the bandits will think twice about returning to Ettin, but leave enough alive so the women and children are provided for."
The carpenter was right. This was a frightening man.
Dapple said, "The Tulwar are foresters. For the most part, they export lumber and flowering trees. Haik makes pots for the trees."
"Do you have children?" the captain asked Haik.
"Two daughters."
"A woman with your abilities should have more. What about brothers?"
"None."
"Male cousins?"
"Many," said Haik.
The captain glanced at Dapple. "Would it be worthwhile asking a Tulwar man to come here and impregnate one of our women? Your lover’s pots are really excellent; and my mother has always liked flowers. So do I, for that matter."
"It’s a small family," said Dapple. "And lives far away. A breeding contract with them would not help you politically."
"There is more to life than politics," said the captain.
"The Tulwar men aren’t much for fighting," said Haik, unsure that she wanted any connection with Ettin.
"You don’t mean they’re cowards?"
"Of course not. They work in our wild backcountry as foresters and loggers. They used to sail the ocean, before most of my family drowned. These kinds of work require courage, but we have always gotten along with our neighbors."
"No harm in that, if you aren’t ambitious." He grinned, showing his missing tooth. "We don’t need to breed for ambition or violence. We have those talents in abundance. But art and beauty–" His blue eye glanced at her briefly. "These are not our gifts, though we are certainly able to appreciate both."
"Witness your appreciation of Cholkwa," said Dapple, her tone amused.
"A great comedian. and the best-looking man for his age I’ve ever seen. But my mother and her sisters decided years ago that he should not be asked to father Ettin children. For one thing, he has never mentioned having a family. Who could the Ettin speak to, if they wanted a breeding contract? A man shouldn’t make decisions like these. We do things the right way in Ettin! In any case, acting is not an entirely respectable art; who can say what qualities would appear among the Ettin, if our children were fathered by actors."
"You see why I have no children," Dapple said, then tilted her head toward the carpenter. "Though my kinswoman here has two sets of twins, because her gift is making props. We don’t tell our relatives that she also acts."
"Not much," said the carpenter.
"And not well," muttered the apprentice sitting next to Haik.
The captain stayed a while longer, chatting with Dapple about his family and her most recent plays. Finally he rose. "I’m too old for these long evenings. In addition, I plan to leave for Ettin at dawn. I assume you’re sending love and respect to my mother."
"Of course," said Dapple.
"And you, young lady." The one eye roved toward her. "If you come this way again, bring pots for Ettin. I’ll speak to my mother about a breeding contract with Tulwar. Believe me, we are allies worth having!"
He left, and Dapple said, "I think he’s imagining a male relative who looks like you, who can spend his nights with an Ettin woman and his days with Ettin Taiin."
"What a lot of hard work!" the carpenter said.
"There are no Tulwar men who look like me."
"What a sadness for Ettin Taiin!" said Dapple.
From Hu Town they went west and south, traveling with a caravan. The actors and merchants rode tsina,which were familiar to Haik, though she had done little riding before this. The carrying beasts were bitalin: great, rough quadrupeds with three sets of horns. One pair spread far to the side; one pair curled forward; and the last pair curled back. The merchants valued the animals as much as tsina,giving them pet names and adorning their horns with brass or iron rings. They seemed marvelous to Haik, moving not quickly, but very steadily, their shaggy bodies swaying with each step. When one was bothered by something–bugs, a scent on the wind, another bital–it would swing its six-horned head and groan. What a sound!