A Wizard and a Warlord

by Christopher Stasheff

  Well. That explained a lot. But why would he tell this to a total stranger and never to her?

  Because she was a woman, of course-and because she had touched his heart.

  No! Impossible! She turned her attention away from it, or tried to-but the old man had turned to her, no doubt detecting Gar's uneasiness. "And you, young woman? Painful though it may be to be given away as a chattel, there is some deeper hurt within you-and I pity you deeply, for such a pain must be profound indeed!"

  Gar turned to her, wide-eyed.

  Suddenly self-conscious, she said, "When men treat women as objects, sir, that is surely pain enough."

  "Indeed," the old man agreed, "and much more severe it must have been to be so much worse than enough." He turned back to Gar. "But pain that belongs to the past, my friends, must not poison your futures."

  "Easily said, sir," Gar said slowly, "but how do you prevent it from doing so?"

  "How can you keep yourself from treating new acquaintances as old ones have treated you?" The old man smiled. "Ah, my friends, it is therein that we must have courage, the courage to trust!"

  "And to let ourselves be wounded all over again?" Alea was surprised at her own bitterness.

  "We must take the risk," the old man said, "or live forever within the shell of ourselves, enclosed and alone, like an oyster who guards his pearl-but what use is that pearl if it is kept always in darkness, never given to the light which alone can show its luster?"

  Gar winced; that had touched a nerve somewhere.

  To hide it, he accused, "You're saying that we must always expose ourselves to attack."

  "An attack that may not come," the old man corrected.

  "Or may come indeed," Alea said with some heat, "and be worse than any we've known!"

  "Therein lies the need for courage," the old man agreed, "but there is never any gain without risk of loss. If we would win friendship, even love, we must open ourselves enough to receive it."

  "That is hard to do," Gar said slowly, "when one has been hurt again and again and again."

  Alea felt the truth of the statement within herself even as she recognized that Gar's words verified her suspicions. But what hurts had he received?

  "You mean that there is no love without trust," she said, "but trust always risks hurt."

  The old man nodded. "Therefore love requires courage. An ancient prophet said that if someone strikes you on the cheek, you should turn your face and expose the other cheek for another blow. I think this is what he spoke of, the need to always be open to love no matter how we have been hurt."

  "Easy enough to say," Gar said with precise politeness, "but how do we dredge up such courage?"

  "By waiting until we find someone else who needs to prove that people can still be trusted," the old man said, "then be patient as they hurt us again and again, ever fearing that we will lash out, ever hoping that they will not."

  Alea shuddered. "No human being can have such patience!" She wondered why Gar glanced at her so oddly.

  But he turned back to the old man and said, "We must allow someone else to hurt us because they need to learn to trust?"

  "Only if they still have the potential to love." The old man raised a forefinger. "It is very hard to tell, because one who can love but who has been hurt guards his heart well behind armor."

  Gar winced again, and Alea wondered.

  "It is the pearl within the oyster." The old man beamed. "But if the oyster never opens his shell, how can we tell if the pearl is within?"

  "Do you not mean that the pearl is within the lotus?" Gar asked with a smile.

  "Or is the lotus within the pearl?" the old man returned.

  Alea glared at Gar and reminded herself to find out what a lotus was when they were back aboard his ship.

  "If the lotus never opens its petals," Gar said, "you can never tell if the pearl is within."

  "But if the pearl's surface never clears," the old man riposted, "how can you tell if there is a lotus inside it?"

  Gar frowned. "You mean we must have faith."

  "Well, you must at least see the sheen of the pearl first," the old man demurred, "to be sure that there is a pearl, or at least a lotus. But then, yes, you must have faith in the pearl."

  Alea suddenly realized what they were talking about. "And that faith is trust!"

  The old man turned and beamed at her. "Exactly. Faith in another human being is trust."

  Alea eyed Gar speculatively, found him gazing at her in the same way. Both of them turned away on the instant-so it was just as well that they rounded a curve and saw a broad terrace before them with a thatched but and half a dozen people in front of it who cried out.

  "There he is! The sage!"

  "Hail, O Wise One!"

  "Give us wisdom to ease our pain, holy man!" They all bowed and one or two knelt.

  "Come, come, now, stand straight and tall, be proud of yourselves!" the old man scolded. "What nonsense is this to kneel to me, who knows no more than a deer or a wolf!"

  They straightened up at once, the kneeling ones leaping to their feet.

  Alea and Gar stared at the old man with amazement. Then Gar said, with deference, "By your leave, good sir, anyone who can speak of the courage to trust knows considerably more than a deer or a wolf."

  "What nonsense!" the old man scoffed. "A deer knows exactly whom it can trust-and whom it cannot."

  "You mean the wolf," Gar said.

  "Among others. But the wolf, too, knows whom it can trust."

  "And whom it cannot?" one of the people asked tentatively.

  "Of course."

  "But whom can a wolf not trust, O Sage?"

  "Other wolves," Gar said slowly.

  "And the deer," Alea finished.

  The old man's smile was as bright as the sun. "There now, my friends! You knew it all along!"

  "Oh, certainly," Gar said softly but with immense sarcasm. "We only needed someone to remind us of it."

  "You see?" the old man asked. "I told you I wasn't wise." He turned to the people, who stood waiting eagerly. "What troubles you, my friends?" He pointed at a woman who still looked young. "Your distress is greatest, good woman. What is its cause?"

  "I ... I don't want to talk about it in front of other people, O Sage," the woman said hesitantly.

  "Then come into my but the walls are thick enough to swallow our voices if we talk softly." The old man beckoned as he went through the doorway. The woman glanced apologetically at the others, then followed.

  Gar and Alea stood uncomfortably, shifting their weight from foot to foot and glancing at the others. Finally, to break the silence, Alea asked, "How did he know who was in the most pain?"

  "That is a part of his wisdom, of course," a village woman said with a smile. "That is why he is a sage." Conversation lapsed; after a few minutes, the other people started talking among themselves in low tones. Alea frowned and nudged Gar. "See those sacks and jugs?"

  Gar looked and nodded. "They have brought him gifts."

  "We should think about that, too," Alea said slowly. "We should indeed," Gar agreed, "if for no other reason than that he has given us a place where General Malachi will never think to look."

  After a while, the woman came out, looking shaken but resolved. She turned to the old man, saying, "Thank you, O Sage!" She started to bow, then caught herself.

  "I thank you, too, for sharing some little part of your life with me," the old man said with a smile. "Go now with an open mind and an open heart, and never stop learning from the world about you."

  She nodded, tears in her eyes, and turned to hurry away.

  The old man scanned the other petitioners, then pointed at a man and said, "What troubles you?"

  "The woman that I love has died in sickbed," the man said, eyes bright with tears. "Why should I go on living?"

  "Ah, then," the old man said softly, "that is pain indeed." He sat, folding his legs. "Come, let us recline, for this needs long talk. Tell me, my friends, why
you embraced life before you fell in love."

  The people looked at one another wide-eyed, then turned back to the sage and sat slowly. The bereaved man said, "I suppose I lived in hope of finding love, 0 Sage."

  "Only in hope?" the old man asked. "Was there nothing to enjoy in life in those days?"

  "Food," one person said slowly. "Festivals," another said. "Friends," said a third.

  Thus it began, and when all the people unrolled their blankets and went to sleep that night, none of them could say that the sage had explained anything, but all of them fell asleep content with their answers. He is a master of illusion, Gar thought.

  Isn't that the same as saying that he knows how to live? Alea returned, and fell asleep.

  They breakfasted with the other petitioners, then followed them down the mountainside-but Gar and Alea fell back far enough to talk in low tones as they went.

  "So the priestesses and priests aren't the only ones guiding the people," Gar said.

  Alea saw where he was heading. "That's not a government! There's a big difference between ruling them and guiding them!"

  "Yes," Gar said, "the difference between being driven someplace whether you want to go there or not, and following someone because you want to go where he's going."

  "It's a matter of choice," Alea insisted.

  "Yes-but if everybody chooses to live in harmony with one another, it has the same effect as government."

  "The same effect from a very different cause!"

  "True," Gar agreed, "and you're right, it isn't a government but it does make me wonder why the priests don't object. If there are lots of sages like this one, they're competing with the clergy for control of people's hearts and minds."

  Alea frowned, trying to find words to fit her objection. "I never heard him say anything religious."

  "True again," Gar admitted, "but it does lessen the priests' control over their people-and if they don't mind that, they're not like any other priests I've ever encountered."

  Alea stiffened. "Soldiers coming!"

  Gar lifted his head, gazing off into space, and nodded. "Another patrol. At least they're still thinking about the giant half-wit and his sister instead of the old peddler and his daughter."

  Alea stood very straight, eyes glazing as she listened to the thoughts below. "They know we're on this mountain but they don't want to come up after us."

  "I don't blame them," Gar said. "It's not exactly good terrain for horses."

  "They'll have us bottled up here!" Alea protested. "If we don't come down, sooner or later they'll come up!"

  "Then we'll have to go down, won't we?" Gar grinned at her.

  "How?" she cried, exasperated. "Do you think we can just stroll past them?"

  "No," Gar said, "I think we're going to leave the road." He turned aside and ducked into the underbrush.

  Alea glared after him, then sighed and followed.

  11

  Alea caught up to Gar and demanded, "Just how do you think we're going to get down?"

  "How do the deer get down?" Gar returned.

  She eyed him narrowly. "You've been listening to that sage too much."

  "I never disdain good advice," Gar said piously, "no matter the source."

  He seemed so sure of himself that Alea felt an irresistible urge to needle. "How do you know it's good advice?"

  "Why," Gar said, "when it's the kind of thing I would think of myself, of course."

  "You might consider the source," Alea said with dry sarcasm.

  "I have been known to make a mistake or two now and then," Gar admitted.

  "Such as looking for a government where there isn't any?"

  "That's not a mistake until I think I've found one," Gar protested.

  Alea turned to stare ahead. "Speaking of finding things..."

  They had come down into the trees while they had been jibing. Now the pines opened out into a clearing-a new one; there were low stumps all around the edges and three log buildings at its center. Nearby, two young men were sweating over shovels, digging out the roots of one of the stumps. In the cleared ground, other young people were plowing while still others were up on top of the long house, thatching its roof. Others were hanging doors in the dozens of doorways.

  "There must be a hundred of them!" Alea said. Gar nodded, frowning. "That's an awfully high concentration of teenagers-and no chaperones!"

  "Oh, I think most of them are in their twenties," Alea demurred.

  "Then your eyes are better than mine." Gar lifted his head, stilling for a moment to listen to thoughts, then relaxing. "You're right they're young, but they're grown."

  Alea was listening, too. "Most of them are ... what did they call it, bonded?"

  "They've paired off, anyway," Gar said. "I wonder how many of those pairs will last.... Well! Let's test their hospitality"

  They went forward to meet the youthful builders. One of the stump-pullers saw them coming and called out. His fellow worker looked up and dropped his pry bar. They both grabbed their tunics, pulled them on, and came running to meet the new arrivals.

  Voices sang out, passing the word from mouth to mouth, and in minutes everyone in the clearing had converged on the companions.

  "Peace, my friends, peace!" Gar crackled in his old man's voice. "We've goods aplenty!"

  "We have not, I'm afraid," said a plump young woman. "We're only beginning to plow, as you see, and have little enough that we have gathered from the forest."

  "Or hunted and smoked," a young man agreed, "though I expect we could spare a ham or two." Alea laughed. "We wish to eat, friends, but not to be weighed down! Have you found amber in the streams or rubies at the base of a tree's roots?"

  "No such luck, I'm afraid," said a bony brunette. "Still, we can offer you a night's food and lodging in exchange for news and songs!"

  Gar glanced at Alea; she nodded and turned to the young woman. "We'll accept your trade, and gladly." The young people cheered and turned to escort their guests toward the buildings. A few ran on ahead.

  As they went, they pointed out their accomplishments proudly. "There's our barn," said a tall young man, "and the two longhouses are our dwellings."

  "Crel, you're so silly!" a young woman scoffed. "Anyone can tell that if they've ever been to a new village!"

  "To tell you the truth, we haven't," said Alea. "We're from very far away."

  "Yes, I thought you had something of an accent," the young woman said with a little frown. "Don't they have new villages where you come from?"

  "Rarely," Alea said, "and when they do, they just grow-one person builds a house by a crossroads, then a few years later another person builds nearby, then another and another until you have a village."

  "What an odd way of building!" the bony young woman said.

  "Now, Honoria," a blond young woman reproved her, "they may like the way they build."

  "Well, it's just not sensible, if you ask me." Honoria sniffed. "We, now, we wait until there're enough young people in three or four villages to start a new one. Then we all march out into the forest together and clear some land for ourselves."

  "Don't your parents give you any help?" Alea asked, wide-eyed.

  "Oh yes, they all came to help us build the longhouses and the barn when spring began," Crel said, "and they stop by from time to time."

  "Which means there's a parent coming to visit every other day," the redhead said with a smile.

  "Of course," said a young man who seemed as broad as a door, "they gave us cattle and tools to start with."

  "And linens and featherbeds and tableware," the blonde reminded him. "You shouldn't forget that, Umbo."

  "Well, no, I shouldn't," Umbo agreed. "After all, we needed them as soon as we arrived here. But once we had built our homes and began plowing, the old folk were happy enough to leave us on our own."

  Alea rather doubted that, but she had to admit the parents . were being quite restrained about their supervision.

  "Of course, we won't be do
ing any more building until midsummer," Honoria explained, "not until the crops are in and growing. Even then, we'll have to do the hoeing ourselves-won't we, Sylvia?"

  "Well, since we don't have any children to do it yet," the blonde said with a smile, "I suppose we shall."

  "I've never seen buildings like these," Gar said in his rusty old man's voice. "Why so many doors?"

  "Oh, these are just temporary, until we have time to build separate houses," Umbo said. He led Gar and Alea toward the longhouses. "When we do, of course, we can take down the inside walls and have a meeting house-but until then, everyone has their own two rooms."

  "With their own outer door." Alea nodded. "Very good. And those inner walls-they're logs, so they're thick?"

  "Very thick," Sylvia said, "so they'll keep the heat in."

  "When we're done with them, we'll have time to saw the inner walls into planks," Honoria said. "They should be nicely seasoned by then."

  "Especially if we hang herbs from the roof beams," Crel said, and everybody laughed.

  Spirits were high; everyone seemed to be excited about the adventure of setting up their own village. Several of the villagers proudly showed the travelers their apartments-all the same in size and proportion, but each decorated differently. Some things were the same in every room, such as the herbs truly hanging from the roof beams-and Alea recognized several that she hadn't seen in other villages, so the young folk did have something to trade with, after all. They spent half the day exclaiming over the peddlers' wares but in the end bartered only for needles and pans and a few other useful things; they gazed at the porcelains and figurines with longing but were too poor for luxuries at this stage. Alea resolved to make them presents of several of the exquisite little items when they left.

  In the afternoon, the plowers went back into the fields and half a dozen others started to roast a boar and prepare the rest of the evening meal, but all the other villagers sat around and traded stories with Alea while Gar sat watching with twinkling eyes, drinking in every word, every sound. He had to admit that Alea did a much better job adapting Snow White and Siegfried than she had with Cinderellabut then, she knew the pitfalls now. He was intrigued to see how well the villagers responded to the notion of a hero fighting a dragon and wondered if there had been local monsters in the early days of the colony.