The Merman's Children (13 page)

“I canna do it again?”

“No need. A bargain is a bargain.”

He continued to gaze across the water. His grip closed hard on the rail. “Ye dinna like me at all?”

“I meant not that,” she protested. Inch by inch, she moved a hand until it lay across his. “You're our rescuer and, yes, you are better to me than many I remember. But we are of, well, sundered kin, mortal and, and other. What closeness can ever be between us?”

“I've watched your een upon Tauno.”

In haste, Ingeborg asked, “Why didn't you try Eyjan? She's beautiful where I'm plain, she's of your halfworld, and I think she might enjoy—not that I regret, Hauau, sweet.”

“Ye'll grow used tae the smell,” he promised bitterly.

“But why will you have
me?”

He stood long mute. Finally he turned to her, fists clenched, and said: “Because ye be in truth a woman and nae fay.”

She raised her glance toward his. The stiffness began to leave her body. “My folk slew yours,” she said as if in confessional.

“That was hundreds o' years agone. We're well-nigh forgotten on land, and the auld grudge wi' us. I dwell in peace, afar on Sule Skerry—wind, waves, gulls the ainly speakers, limpets and barnacles the ainly neighbors—at peace, save for storm and shark, whilst winter follows winter—but sometimes it grows dreegh, d'ye ken?”

“Bare rock, bare sea, sky without Heaven.…Oh, Hauau!” Ingeborg laid her cheek on his breast. He stroked her with clumsy care.

“But why have you not sought elsewhere?” she wondered after his heart had tolled threescore slow beats.

“I did when younger, wide aboot, and many's the kittle thing I did see. But by and large, wha' Faerie people I met wad ha' small part o' me. They saw me as ugly and looked na deeper, for tae them, naught lies below the skin.”

Ingeborg lifted her head. “That's not true. Not of every half-worlder, at least. Tauno—Tauno and Eyjan——”

“Aye, so it do seem. 'Tis good o' them tae provide for their sister. Natheless…in humans like you is more. I canna name it. A warmth, a, a way o' loving…is it that ye know ye maun dee and therefore cleave tegither the wee span ye hae, or is it a spark o' eternity…a soul? I dinna ken. I know nobbut that in some men, and in more women, I hae felt it, like a fire on a cauld night….Ye hae it, Ingeborg, bright and strong as e'er I cheered mysel' by. Reckon yoursel' lucky in your sorrows, for that ye can love as much as ye do.”

“I?” she asked, astounded. “A whore? No, you're wrong. What can you tell about mankind?”

“More than ye might think,” he said gravely. “Frae time tae time I hae entered your world, and not always been cast right oot; for though I be bad tae see and smell, I'm a strong, steady worker. Hoo else might I hae learned the tongue or the sailor's craft? I've had feres amang men, and certain women hae made me welcome in their hames, and a few—can ye believe?—a very few hae gi'en me love.”

“I see why they would,” she breathed.

Pain twisted his visage. “Na wedded love. Hoo could a monster like me hae a kirkly wedding? 'Tis been but for short whiles. Langer amang men, aye; we'd make voyage after voyage. In the end I maun leave them too, o' coorse, syne they were growing old and I na. Tens o' years wad pass on my skerry ere I had courage tae seek out mortals again. 'Twas langer yet if there had been a woman's kiss.”

“Must I too hurt you, then?” Ingeborg stood on tiptoe and drew his neck downward. Mouth met mouth.

“'Twill be worth it, dear,” he said. “Wha' dreams I'll weave in the clouds, wha' songs the wind will sing o' ye! And every calm, starlit night will bring back this, till the day o' my weird.”

“But you will be so alone.”

He tried to ease her: “'Tis as well. When my death comes, 'twill be because o' a woman.”

She stood back. “What?”

“Och, naught.” He pointed aft. “See hoo shining wheels the Wain o' Carl.”

“No, Hauau,” she urged, and shivered beneath the cloak she had cast over her before leaving the forepeak. “Say forth, I beg you.” She paused; he gnawed his lip. “We'll be…mates…for this journey. I've seen more witchiness of late than I dare dwell upon. Another mystery, that may touch me——”

He sighed, shook his head, and answered, “Nay, na ye, Ingeborg, fear na that. I…by mysel' the most o' my life, brooding over the deeps…hae gained a measure o' the second sight. I foreknow summat o' my fate.”

“And?”

“The hour will come when a mortal woman bears me a son; and later I will tak' him awa' wi' me, lest they burn him for a demon's get; and she'll wed a man wha' shall slay us both.”

“No, no, no.”

He folded his arms. “I'm na afeared. Sad for the baim, aye. Yet in those days Faerie will be a last thin glimmer ere it fades oot fore'er. Thus I can believe 'tis a mercy for him; and mysel', I'll be at one wi' the waters.”

Ingeborg wept, quite quietly, under the stars. He did not venture to touch her.

“I am barren,” she gulped.

He nodded. “I know full well ye're nae my doom. Your ain fate——” His teeth snapped air. After a moment: “Ye're weary frae all ye hae suffered. Come, let me tak' ye below tae sleep.”

It was still dark when the hourglass called time for a change of watch, though dawn was not far off. The crew had agreed that two Faerie folk should always be on duty at night, and laid out a scheme of shifts. On this occasion Hauau took over steering and Tauno went aloft.

Eyjan, freed, swung lithely down a hatch to the quarters rigged in the hold. Enough light for her came from the constellations framed in that opening; had the hatch been on, she could have found her way by touch, odor, a mermaid's sense of direction and place. Niels and Ingeborg slumbered on pallets side by side, he stretched out, she curled like an infant, an arm across her eyes. Eyjan squatted beside the youth, stroked his hair, said low into his ear: “Come, sluggard. It's our time now.”

“Oh…oh.” He jerked to wakefulness. Before he could speak aloud, she stopped his lips with hers.

“Softly,” she cautioned. “Disturb not that poor woman. Here, I'll guide you.” She took his hand. Rapturous, he followed her to ladder and deck.

Westward the stars glittered, but eastward a horned moon had risen and the sky beneath was turning argent. The sea shimmered ever more bright; Eyjan stood forth against shadow as if a lamp glowed cool from within her. Wind had freshened, it strummed on the rigging and bellied out the sail,
Herning
heeled over a bit, aquiver. Waves whooshed.

Niels halted. “Eyjan,” he cried, “you're too fair, your beauty burns me.”

“Soft, soft,” she said, with a hasty glance up the mast. “This way, to the forepeak.” She danced ahead, he bumbled after.

Blackness no longer dwelt under the bow deck: instead, a twilight wherein he could see her clearly, till she cast her body against his and he was caught in the whirlwind of her kiss. Trumpets, drums, and exploding flames burst loose in him. “Get those stupid clothes off,” she soon commanded, and plucked at them herself.

——They lay resting for the next passage. “I love you,” he said into the fragrance of her hair. “With my very soul, I love you.”

“Hush,” she warned. “You're a man—yes, a man, however young—and christened.”

“I care not!”

“You will. You must.” Eyjan leaned on an elbow to look down at his countenance. Most gently, her free hand descended on his breast. “You have an immortal spirit to ward. Need has made us shipmates, but I'd not be the means of your ruin, darling friend.”

Blinded by sudden anguish, he groped at her bosom and gasped, “I can't leave you. Never can I. And you—you'd not leave me, would you? Say you won't!”

She calmed him with kisses and embraces till he could listen to her: “We'll not fret about the morrow, Niels. What can that do save spoil the today that is ours? No more talk of love.” She chuckled. “Rather, good, honest lust. You're a most rousing fellow, did you know?”

“I, I
care
for you——”

“And I for you. We'll share in many ways, at work, at talk, at song, at gaze over sea and sky…close comrades.…” Again she laughed, deep in her throat. “At this hour, though, we've else to do, and I feel that you—how marvelous.”

——In the crow's nest, Tauno heard the noises they made. His mouth grew tight; he beat fist into palm, over and over.

Easy weather prevailed, and
Herning
limped south faster than might have been awaited. When she passed near craft plying between England and the Pale, Hauau, clad like a man, shouted in the English language that she was whatever he and Niels deemed would be plausible at a given encounter. Since they were clearly on no mission of war or robbery, that sufficed. Once they did heave to and wait for night in order to steal past a royal ship which Hauau took a near look at in his seal form. She could have stopped them on suspicion of spying or smuggling.

On a cloudy eventide Tauno came back with a fine big salmon in his grip. He swung himself up the rope ladder that trailed from the waist and cast the fish onto the planks. “Ho, ho!” boomed the selkie from the dark in the aftercastle where he steered. “Will ye cut me a chunk o' that the noo?”

Tauno nodded and brought it to him. In the dull light of a lanthom which illuminated the floating compass needle, Hauau bulked less human-looking than by day. He snatched the raw meat and tore at it greedily. The siblings did not care for cooked fish either, and Ingeborg prepared it only for Niels and herself. Yet a touch of disgust passed across Tauno's face before he could check it.

Hauau noticed. “Wha' ails ye?” he asked.

Tauno shrugged. “Naught.”

“Nay, summat, and tae do wi' me, I'm thinking. Spit it oot. We canna afford tae let angers rankle.”

“Why, I've no plaint against you.” Tauno's voice remained sullen. “If you must know my fancy, I'll say that we were more mannerly about our eating in Liri.”

Hauau studied him a moment before he said in chosen words: “Ye'd na let that itch, save tae tak' your mind off a pain. Wha's the matter, lad?”

“Naught, I told you!” Tauno snapped, and turned to go.

“Hold,” the selkie called out. Tauno did.

“Is it that there's nae wench for ye, when Niels and I hae 'em?” Hauau probed. “I believe Ingeborg wad mak' ye welcome, and sure I'd na begrudge ye the pleasure.”

“Do you imagine
she
——” Tauno broke off. This time he did leave.

Dusk was thickening outside. A dim shape slid down a shroud and reached deck with a thump. Tauno trod close. Niels must strain to see, but the halfling easily recognized confusion upon the other.

“What were you doing there?” he demanded.

“Why, why, Eyjan has the crow's nest, you know,” Niels replied in a voice that trembled the least bit. “We were talking till she warned I'd better leave while I can make out what's around me.”

Tauno nodded. “Yes, you'd miss no chance of her company, would you?”

He stared onward. Niels caught him by the wrist. “Tauno …sir…I pray you, hear me,” the youth pleaded.

The Liri prince halted. “Well?” he said after a partial minute.

Niels swallowed. “You've grown aloof. Cold to me—to everybody, it seems, but most to me. Why? Have I wronged you in any way? I'd not do that for the world, Tauno.”

“What makes you suppose you could do me harm, landling?”

“Well, your sister—your sister and I——”

“Huh! She's a free being. I'm not such a fool as to judge her.”

Niels reached out in the gloaming that separated him from Tauno. “I love her,” he said.

“How can you? We're soulless, she and I, remember?”

“You can't be! She…she's so wonderful, so wonderful. I want to marry her…if not in sight of man, then sight of God…abide with her, cherish her, till death comes for me. Tauno, I'd be a good husband. I'd provide well for her, and the children. My share of the gold, I know how to make that fruitful——Will you speak to her, Tauno? She'll not let me talk of it, but will you, for my sake—and hers? Why, she could be saved, even——”

The babble strangled as the halfling took Niels by the arms and shook him, back and forth till teeth rattled. “Hold your mouth,” Tauno snarled. “Not another word, or I'll smite you flat. Enjoy your little romp while it lasts. That's what it is to her, you understand, a romp, the latest of dozens. Naught else. Be glad for what she has a whim to lend you, and pester us not with your whining. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, forgive me, I'm sorry,” sobbed Niels. When Tauno let go, he sank to the deck.

The merman's son loomed above him for a span, though it was aloft that his glance sought. Nothing stirred yonder save a wind-tossed lock of hair. He opened his lips to form speech in the Liri tongue, but closed them.

Slow resolve came over him. “Stay topside, Niels, till I say you may come below,” he ordered.

Swiftly, then, he sought a hatch. He did not trouble to put cover on coaming, which would have muffled sounds. Straight to Ingeborg's pallet he went and roused her.

Rain blew soft from Ireland and blurred the world into dove color. It whispered louder than the breeze as it struck the waves and dimpled them. Through coolness and damp, each breath one drew carried a ghost of green fields.

A masthead lookout being useless, Tauno and Eyjan swam ahead, scouts. The cog was dim in their sight; they were together by themselves for the first time in a long stretch. At the pace of sailing today, they moved easily, well able to converse.

“You were cruel to Niels,” she said.

He chopped a splash out of the water. “You heard us?”

“Of course.”