Poul Anderson - The Merman's Children

“You’re wearied,” she said at length. “Lie down. Have a nap. I’ll sing you a lullabye.”

He obeyed. The simple melody, which her mother had belike never sung to her, washed over him like a brooklet and bore away care.

He was content. Let flesh and blood wait until some later time. The vilja would never betray him.

Summer descended toward autumn. At first the fields were crowded with peasants stooped above sickles, or following to rake, bind, shock, cart off, and glean. They labored from before dawn till after sunset, lest a rainstorm rob them, and tumbled into sleep. The work was still less merciful than usual, because all signs portended a winter early and harsh. When at last the garnering was done, everybody celebrated titanically. Meanwhile, each night the stars came forth seeming more remote than ever through air that quickly grew chill.

In one such darkness, Tauno and Eyjan walked along the riverbank. She had insisted that they have a real talk. He yielded, grudgingly, but said he felt too trapped between walls.

A glow above eastern peaks portended moonrise. Erelong it would be the harvest moon that lifted. Carl’s Wain loomed immense, as low as it glittered in the Dalmatian sky; higher blinked the Pole Star, to show Northern folk their way home. Frogs and crickets were silenced, only the purling stream had voice. Unseasonable hoarfrost lay upon sere grass. Tauno felt it under his feet, for he had shucked his clothes once out of sight of Skradin. Eyjan had not; hooded cloak and flowing gown did what they were able to hide the fullness of her.

After a mile or two, she took the word: “Captain Asbern sought me out while I was in Shibenik. He warned that if Brynhild doesn’t start back soon, she’ll have to lie over till spring. Already there are few masters who’d embark on so long a voyage.”

“Yes, we knew that,” he replied.

“But did you, at least, think about it?” Eyjan paused, except for her footfalls, before she continued. “I’ve learned about human ways of late, maybe more than you’ve condescended to do. It would be costly for Niels to have ship and crew a year or more agone. And that wretched war-Father back at the siege of Zadar, where he could be killed without ever having seen you. . . . Well, I’ve been told our documents may not protect us from the Venetians. A commerce raider of theirs may decide the King of Denmark and his bishops are too far off to be a threat. The later we depart, the worse our chances.”

“Why, then, we can let the ship sail,” he told her. “But what’s in Denmark for us?”

Alarm replied: “What’s for us here?” She caught his hand. They stopped in midstride. “Tauno, what is it that keeps you in the wildwood?”

He answered the first question. “Well, true, we found our kin and they’re merely another lot of mortals. You must indeed be weary of the lady’s role. So leave if you wish.”

She searched his countenance. It was visor-blank, though hers quivered. “Not you?”

“I think not yet. But go you, and give Ingeborg and Niels my greetings. ”

“You promised you’d return to her for at least a while.”

“I will, I will, when the time is right,” he snapped.

“You’ve changed, Tauno-in a way, more than anyone else from Liri.”

“Unless what I am now was ready within me, like a thaw in a frozen pond. Enough. I care not for chatter about myself.”

As he watched her, his mood softened. “Aye, do hail Ingeborg from me, if you return,” he said. “Tell her I’ve not forgotten loyalty, wise counsel, patient helpfulness, and, yes, how dear she was when we joined. I could wish it were in me to love a mortal woman as Father did Mother.” He sighed. “It isn’t.”

She looked away, but did not ask whom it was he could love.

“What of yourself, though?” he went on. “After you’ve spent a few weeks or months with Niels, where will you go?”

She braced herself. “I may go no farther at all,” she said.

“Hoy?” he barked, astounded. After a minute: “Well, yes, his leman while he remains young. I can see where that would be pleasant. He’d leave you your freedom; and after he grows old—”

“I would grow old with him.” Stubbornly, against his stupefaction, she urged: “You should listen to Father. He’s right, the Faith is true, and we’re not condemned, it’s just a matter of choosing to take what it promises. . . and Faerie is doomed, Tauno. . . . I wanted to be sure we two spoke together this night, because tomorrow I fare to Father Tomislav in his parish and pray him to tell me more. Won’t you come along?”

“No!” he roared, yanked loose from her grasp and made a fist against Heaven. “Eyjan, you can’t mean that—”

“I’m not quite sure, but—”

“Crawling before a God Who twists and breaks what He made- At least Odin never claimed to be just.” Her own strength rose to straighten her back and level her gaze.

“Be glad that God is not just,” she said. “He is merciful.”

“Where was the mercy for Nada?” He whirled about and ran. She started to follow, then stood where she was.

Far in the west, the moon still made the lake tremble with radiance; but the east was whitening, stars above yonder treetops were gone, and up there, like a gleam of bronze, an early hawk was at hover. On earth lay a frosty silence.

Tauno and Nada stood side by side on the shore. The vilja’s mood was more grave than formerly. “You are always good to me,” she murmured, “but oh, at this meeting, somehow, kindness has glowed from you. I felt it, I feel it yet, as once I felt sunshine.”

“How could I be other than kind, to you?” His tone was harsh.

In her pensiveness she did not notice, simply squeezed the fingers he had intertwined with hers. “You make me remember things like sunshine,” she told him. “With you by me, I’m no longer afraid to remember. I know you’ll take away the hurt.”

“You, you help me forget.”

“What? But you’d not want to forget, would you? Your wonderful sea, that I never weary of hearing about. I, though, I was no more than a silly girl who stumbled into such woe that she drowned herself. Yes, I did; today I dare know it, though I can’t understand how I ever got that bewildered.” She smiled. “And over a boy, a mere boy. You are a man.”

“A merman.”

“Well, whatever, Tauno, dearest. Do you know what’s become of Mihajlo? I hope he’s cheery, wherever he is.”

“Yes, I hear he’s doing well.”

Her look upon him grew disturbed, for he was grimly staring out across the water. “You’ve been wounded by something new,” she said. “Can I help? How I wish I can.”

Surprised, for never before had she shown perception so close, he let slip: “I may have to leave soon. My sister, that I’ve told you about, she thinks we should and I fear she’s right.” Deep in his gullet: “As far as her reasoning goes; no further.”

Then Nada had recoiled from him, one hand across her open mouth to bar a shriek, the other palm thrust outward in denial.

N0, no, no. Tauno, why pease, no.

She crumpled together and wept. Not until tonight had he seen that.

He knelt to enfold her in his arms. The slim form clung, he stroked the loose hair of a maiden, he vowed he had misspoken himself and not for anything, ever, would he be sundered from her, and all the while he knew he was being as crazy as she had been when she ended her bodily life.

On the feast of St. Matthew the Apostle, the daughter of Andrei and Agnete was christened by Father Tomislav in his church. The name she had chosen was Dragomir. In Denmark, that had become Dagmar, which means “day maiden.”

Tall she stood before the alter, clad in white as though for her bridal, ruddy locks braided and covered as beseems a woman in the house of God. Beside her were her father, back again from the war for this moment; his wife Jelena; Ivan Subitj and his own lady. The dark little building was full of folk from the zadruga and her kindred of Liri, as many as could pack in. At the forefront stood Luka, with a look of hopeless yearning. At the back was Tauno. Some had said it was not right to let him in, but the priest had replied that he was her brother, and in any case there was inevitably much improvisation in this rite, and besides—who knew?—the spectacle might by sudden grace unseal his breast. He kept arms folded and countenance rigid.