Then it was time for dinner, which everyone ate with laughter and bright conversation. Alea noticed a great deal of flirting and wondered if perhaps some of the pairings weren't really settled yet. She did see some jealous glances and wondered if the colony would survive until its members had sorted out who should stay with whom.
"What if you find you're paired with someone you don't like after all," she asked Sylvia, "or if you fall out of love?"
"Oh, that happens all the time when you're our age," Sylvia said. "If two people can't get along or the woman falls in love with somebody else, she just puts the man's gear outside the door and that's the end of it."
"The end?" Alea stared. "Doesn't the man object?"
"Of course not." Sylvia looked at her strangely. "The house is the woman's, after all."
"Even though the man built it?"
"We all build the houses," Sylvia said. "Isn't that how it's done in your homeland?"
"No, it's not," Alea said, "but I'm beginning to think it should be. What if it's the man who falls out of love?"
"Oh, then he takes his things and moves into the bachelors' house," Sylvia said. "That's what the other longhouse is for."
All in all, Alea liked the system.
When dinner was done, she volunteered to help the dozen people who did the washing up and putting away while someone brought out a small set of bagpipes and others brought out flutes and fiddles. The young folk danced for an hour or more, laughing and chatting and flirting. Then as the sky darkened, they went indoors-some to the bachelors' house, many couples to the main longhouse.
"There is one dwelling for two still empty," Crel offered.
"No, thank you," Gar said in his oldest voice. "I think my daughter would rather sleep by herself. Wouldn't you, my dear?"
"Of course I would, Papa," Alea said demurely while she directed a thought at Gar-that it was a very good thing he hadn't accepted the first invitation.
He looked up at her in surprise; then his eyes crinkled in amusement. He disguised it by covering his mouth for a yawn.
"Yes, I don't manage late nights as well as I used to. A bed would be very welcome right now."
Alea noticed that he hadn't said whose.
Alea woke in the night, wondering what had roused her. She looked around the small room the young folk had given her-the glow of starshine through the window and the answering glow from the hearth both illuminating a small table with a jug and a basin, the chair beside it with her clothes draped over it, and the great eyes with crinkled corners that seemed to glow in the darkness of the room.
Alea sat bolt upright, fear churning upward to become a scream-but before it emerged, she recognized the huge globe of fur and the toothy grin. She relaxed somewhat and thought, So you can come indoors, too. I thought you were creatures of the forest.
This village is very much in the forest, Evanescent reminded her. If it were in a town, now, there might have been somebody awake, and I would have had to have been much more circumspect.
Alea had a notion that in that case, "circumspect" would have meant lulling people to sleep telepathically. You could give a body some warning. I can't breathe well with my heart in my throat.
You know I mean you no harm. Evanescent seemed spectacularly undisturbed by the notion. Besides, rapid heartbeats and deepened breathing increase the health of your kind.
Only when they come from exercise, Alea thought caustically. It seemed amazing to her that she hadn't thought of the native alien since their first encounter. Why, she might have forgotten Evanescent completely!
Then she realized that she had.
I don't like anyone playing with my mind, she thought, keeping the anger an undertone.
What of your heart? Evanescent replied. Do you still deny that the big one is your mate?
I deny it most strenuously! Even Alea thought that was a strange word, but it was out and there was no helping it.
Then why do you aid him so?
I don't aid him I'm sharing his adventures and letting him aid me!
To what purpose?
To learn-to see new things-to meet new kinds of people! The glory of it seized Alea all over again-the tremendous excitement of actually being on a different world!
What have you learned, then?
A fantastic amount. The whole complex of new and strange ways of thinking and behaving jumped into Alea's mind in an instant. She tried to steady them, to focus them; the easiest was to say what she hadn't learned. But we still have not found their government.
What a strange concept that is! Evanescent marveled. Ordering and making methodical the ways of living beings! Is it not simpler to let each follow her own path?
People don't work that way; Alea explained. We're social creatures-we have to have others of our kind about. Strange, very strange. Evanescent seemed delighted by the notion. But why is your mate so upset not to find this government that he sees as some sort of great barren tree?
He thinks it is the only way to save people from famine, disease, and oppression. Without it, he sees only that strong people will hurt weaker people and make them miserable.
There is some truth to that, Evanescent mused, but a government like that which General Malachi wishes to make would hurt and oppress people even more.
Gar thinks that is what happens where there is no better form ofgovernment to stop such a man.
Ah! His true concern, then, is to prevent the suffering of his fellow creatures! Why . . . yes, I suppose so. Alea hadn't thought of it in quite that way before.
And he seeks to protect the people from such as General Malachi, Evanescent thought, exulting. He must seek out the Scarlet Company then.
He has tried, Alea thought. He cannot find it.
Find it for him, then. The alien grinned, sending shivers down Alea's spine. What kind of mate are you?
Not a mate at all! Alea fairly screamed-in her mind, of course.
Seek to find the Scarlet Company for him, Evanescent advised, but seek to know your own heart first.
The coals flared up on the hearth and Alea turned to look at them, heart pounding-but the flame died down as quickly as it had risen, and she sagged back onto the strange bed, wondering that so minor a thing should have wakened her. Well, she could find sleep again easily enough. She looked around the small, empty room once, to remind herself where she was, then rolled over on her side and closed her eyes.
There was an undercurrent of excitement at breakfast the next day. When they were done eating, people circulated, talking with one another, and Alea began to feel guilty. Finally she went to Sylvia and said, "We're planning to go on with our journey. Your people really mustn't stay home just for us."
Sylvia stared at her in astonishment, then laughed and caught her hands. "Don't feel badly-it's not you we're waiting for."
"Who, then?" Alea asked in surprise.
"The priestess! She's coming to bless the fields this morning! That's why the plowers had to finish yesterday even though they were dying to stay and coax you into telling another story!"
Gar looked up with interest, then came tottering over. "Surely this will be a festive event, Daughter. Let us stay to honor the goddess."
"Of course, Father." Alea wondered if the goddess would really feel honored by Gar's curiosity.
The priestess arrived in midmorning, accompanied by two junior priestesses and two priests who led a cart pulled by a donkey and filled with bulging sacks tied at the mouth.. She smiled at the greetings of the young folk and accepted their plaudits. When she and her entourage had rested and taken some wine, she rose, assuming dignity like a garment, and intoned, "Are all the fields plowed?"
Honoria stepped forth, a clean white robe belted over her everyday homespun. "Indeed, Reverend Lady, they are."
"Let us go to them, then." The priestess spoke with the cadence of ritual, then turned to glide toward the fields. Her acolytes followed, a man and a woman to each side and a little behind in an inverted V. The people
trooped along, singing a tune that managed to be both solemn and joyful. With a shock, Gar recognized the ode from Beethoven's Ninth Symphony.
When they came to the plowed land, the acolytes fanned out to the sides and brought shoulder bags out from under their cloaks. Slipping the straps over their heads, they marched down the furrows, sprinkling powder with circular sweeps of their hands.
Don't you dare! Alea thought at Gar.
But it's so hard to resist, Gar thought back.
Alea turned to glare daggers at him and saw that he had somehow managed to hobble to the fore, swinging his hands in time to the music-and could he help it if the swing of his hand crossed the spray of powder?
Yes, of course he could help it and had. Alea saw the hand go into his pocket even as he slowed, as a tired old man would, and let younger people pass him, dropping back toward the rear of the crowd.
Is nothing sacred? she thought angrily.
Of course, Gar replied, and I can tell you exactly what's in my people's sacred oils and powder and incense. Surely there's no sacrilege in my finding out what's in theirs.
True enough on the face of it, but somehow Alea felt that the spirit was lacking.
The procession paced off every furrow of each of the four fields, then came back to the common between the longhouses.
"You have plowed well," the priestess intoned. "How shall you plant?"
"Soybean in the northern field," Sylvia replied, with the same ceremonial cadence, "maize in the southern, tomatoes in the eastern, and potatoes in the western."
What are you smiling about now? Alea demanded. Only because none of those crops was known in medieval Europe, Gar thought in answer.
Alea felt angry without knowing why. Who says these people had to be modeled after Europeans?
No one, Gar admitted. In fact, a lot of their styles are a very nice blend of every early culture I've heard about. Alea felt the glow of a minor triumph.
"What will you plant next year?" the priestess intoned, and with a start of surprise, Alea realized one of the junior priestesses was writing down the answers.
"Maize in the northern field," Sylvia replied, with the same ceremonial cadence, "tomatoes in the southern, potatoes in the eastern, and soybeans in the western."
"What shall you offer the goddess to ward against weeds?"
Alea saw Gar tense up. What worries you?
Human sacrifice, Gar thought back, especially since they have a couple of handy strangers to offer.
"We shall plant pumpkins and squash amid the corn," Sylvia answered, "whose broad leaves shall stifle weed-shoots-and of course we shall hoe."
Alea saw Gar relax and thought a gibe: Don't you feel silly now?
No, I feel alive, Gar thought back, and very nice it is, too. You should feel ashamed of yourself, Alea rebuked him. Why would you suspect something so gruesome of such nice people?
They are Neolithic, after all.
Alea's lips tightened. Don't you think you should apologize?
How, without letting them know what I was thinking? "How shall you ward your crops from ravening insects?" the priestess demanded.
"We shall plant blooming asterones and blossoming meromies," Sylvia answered.
Alea frowned. What are asterones and meromies? Flowers that the original colonists brought, Gar replied. I have heard of them-they were first bred on Terra when her people began to colonize other planets, and a great boon they've been to farmers all over the Terran Sphere.
"Well done, daughter of the goddess," the priestess said. "Do thus every year."
Crop rotation and central coordination of production, Gar thought, but it's not a government.
Well, of course not! Alea thought indignantly. They're choosing to do it.
Choosing to do as they've been taught, Gar qualified. There's no crime in that!
None at all, Gar agreed.`
Why did Alea feel she had lost another round? Gar was insufferable! Perhaps she shouldn't suffer him after all. These people seemed nice enough; perhaps she should stay with them, and let Gar go on without her.
For some reason, the mere thought raised panic in her.
The priestess raised her arms and turned slowly so that she swept all the villagers with her gaze as she intoned, "Well have you begun, well may you continue! The blessing of the goddess be upon you, and upon all that your earth and you yourselves shall bear!" She lowered her arms and in a more normal voice cried out, "Celebrate, children! Celebrate life and the gifts of the goddess!"
The villagers shouted with joy, and the music and dancing began. -
The priestess and her entourage left in midafternoon with a cartful of empty sacks. As dusk gathered, Alea came back from the dancing to her "aged parent," sat down by him, and asked, "Did Herkimer analyze the powder yet?" She knew he carried a dagger whose sheath transmitted and identified the molecules of any substance by sonic reflection and beamed that identification up to the spaceship.
"He did," Gar told her. "It was mostly nitrates of organic origin-nothing that a real Neolithic society couldn't have manufactured, but something that none of them would ever have thought o£"
"It was fertilizer, then?"
Gar nodded. "Nice way to get them off to a good start. After all, they don't have enough cows or horses to do it the more primitive way. I have a notion it's a good supplement even when they do have a full complement of livestock."
"You're trying to tell me the priestess isn't working any real magic," Alea accused.
Gar stared at her in surprise. "I certainly am not! I didn't even think of it as magic just a ritual to focus and direct people, make them feel the rightness and purpose in their work, and give them confidence in the outcome."
"Only what any religious ritual gives?" Alea said slowly.
"Well, yes, but that's just the side effect," Gar said. "The real purpose is worship, of course, and I saw a great deal of sincerity in that."
There wasn't much to argue about there. Still, his skepticism seemed vaguely blasphemous. "You mean you're not trying to say their religion is a sham?"
"No, I'm not," Gar said, "no more than the medieval monasteries and convents were shams simply because they kept alive a little of the learning of the Greeks and Romans."
Alea could accept that and felt a bit better for it. "Still, I do think it was very clever of the original colonists," Gar said. "One more way of keeping alive the benefits of civilization in a Neolithic society"
Alea bridled once more. "You mean you think they were cheating again."
"Of course."
They left the next morning, leaving presents of flower vases, amber, and figurines, to the delight of their hosts. The young people waved as they left, calling good-byes and making them promise to return someday. When the trees swallowed up the clearing, Alea stopped waving and turned back to Gar. "They're not so very much younger than us. I think I could stay with them many years and be happy."
"That would be pleasant." Gar sighed. "And if you wish to, of course, you must but I'm afraid there is still more work for me to do."
Alea frowned up at him. "Why? No one's making you go wandering around the galaxy!"
"No one but my inner self," Gar told her. "I don't know what I'm looking for, but I'll recognize it when I find it."
They walked in silence for a few minutes. Then Alea asked, "A place where you won't feel like a stranger?"
"I suppose so," Gar admitted.
"Then you'll finish by going home someday."
"That would indeed finish me," Gar said sardonically, "but a wise man once said that you can't go home again, and I've heard it confirmed by many emigres who have tried."
"Why can't they?" But Alea thought of returning to Midgard and shuddered at the thought. A wave of loneliness swept her-if she couldn't feel at home on her native world, where could she belong? To bury the feeling, she said, her voice harsh, "Anyone can return, can retrace the steps they've taken and come again to the place where they began!"
"They can," Gar said, "but while they've been gone, home has changed and they have changed. The people who stayed home have changed with their homeland, but the travelers have changed in different ways. They've grown apart, and the wanderer must find a new home. . ."
He left the sentence hanging, and Alea couldn't help finishing what he did not: Or wander forever. Panic threatened again; she stifled it by objecting, "This is a new place with people from many different villages. They would accept us. They're all building a new home."
"But they have family who visit," Gar said gently. "They are all members of one culture. I could learn new ways, but they would never be native to me."
Anger wakened, covering the loneliness, and Alea snapped, "The day may come when you have to go back and make your birthplace home again!"
"It may," Gar sighed. "It may indeed."
He didn't have to finish the thought that he would never again be able to feel at home on Gramarye. Nor Alea on Midgard, or any other world. Finally the panic roared through her; her knees weakened, and she seized Gar's arm to brace herself. He covered her hand with his-and she was surprised to realize he was clinging as tightly as she. Even more amazingly, the panic began to recede.
So they went on down the road, holding to one another until Alea began to feel embarrassed. Gar must have sensed her feelings, because he recited softly,
Thus he murmured, heavy-hearted:
"Why was I, alas! created,
Why was I so ill-begotten,
Since for months and years I wander,
Lost among the ether-spaces?"
"Not friendless," Alea said, her voice thick. "Not friendless."
When they stopped for the midday meal, Alea asked, "Who was the friendless one?"
"Kullervo," Gar answered, "the anti-hero of the Kalevala, the Finns' Land of Heroes."
"My ... the Midgarders have tales of the Finns," Alea said, frowning with the effort of remembering. "They were a nation of sorcerers, weren't they?"
"I would prefer to think of them as wizards and magicians."
"What's the difference?"
"In my homeland," Gar said slowly, "sorcerers work evil magic. Wizards and magicians work good magic."
A Wizard and a Warlord Page 12