The Merman's Children (25 page)

Again was a windy hush. Tauno and Eyjan exchanged a look. “No,” said the brother.

“What?” burst from Haakon. He tried to jeer: “Are you afraid? When you'd have allies? Then flee these waters at dawn.”

“I think you lie to us,” Tauno said. “Not about your bloodiness toward the Inuit, nor about their revenge, no—but about those merfolk. It rings false.”

“I watched faces,” Eyjan put in. “Your own following doesn't swallow that yarn.”

Jonas grabbed at his dagger. “Do you call my father a liar?”

“I call him a desperate man,” Tauno said. “However”—he pointed to the crucifix above the high seat—“take that sign of your God between both hands, Haakon Arnorsson. Kiss your God on the lips, and swear by your hope of going to Him after you die, that you have spoken entire truth to us, your guests. Then we will fare beside you.”

Haakon sat. He stared.

Eyjan rose. “Best we go, Tauno,” she sighed. “Goodfolk, we're sorry. But why should we risk our lives for nothing, in a quarrel not ours and unjust to boot? I rede you to do what Bengta said, and leave this land of ill weird.”

Haakon leaped erect. His sword blazed forth. “Seize them!” he shouted.

Tauno'a knife sprang free. The sword whirred down and struck it from his grasp. Women and children screamed. But from fear of what might happen if the halflings escaped, the men boiled against them.

Two clung to either arm of Tauno, two to either leg. He banged them around. A club struck his head. He roared. The club thudded twice, thrice. Agony and shooting stars flashed across his world. He crumpled. Between raggedy-clad calves he glimpsed Eyjan. She had her back to the wall. Spears hemmed her in, the sword hovered aloft, Jonas laid steel at her throat. Tauno fell into nothingness.

IX

D
AY
broke as a sullen red glimmer through clouds, a steel sheen on the murk and chop of the fjord. Wind blew whetted. Tauno wondered if the wind was always keening around this place. He awoke on the straw where he had been laid out, to see Haakon towering above him as a shadow. “Up!” called the chieftain, and men grumbled about in the house-dark, babies wailed, older children whimpered.

“Are you well?” Eyjan asked from across the room. Like him, she had spent the night on the floor, wrists and ankles bound, neck leashed to a roofpost.

“Stiff,” he said. After hours of sleep, his temples no longer throbbed as when first he regained awareness. Blood clotted his hair, though, thirst his mouth. “You, my sister?”

Her chuckle came hoarse. “Well, that Jonas lout crawled by ere dawn to fumble at me, then dared not untie my legs. I could have made do, but it was a sort of fun to pretend I couldn't. Shall I tell the rest?” They were using their father's language.

“Not unless you do want him upon you, and belike more than him. We're soulless—animals—to be used however men see fit—remember?”

Haakon had come near saying as much when he had them secured: “Never would I have laid hand on any human whom I'd declared a guest, not even a Skraeling. But you aren't. Does a man break faith when he butchers a sheep he's kept? My sin would be
not
to force you, for the saving of my people.” He added: “Tomorrow you'll help us fight the tupilak, Tauno. Eyjan stays behind, hostage. If you win, you both go free. That oath I will give you upon the Cross.”

“Can we nonetheless believe a traitor?” she snarled.

His mouth twisted upward. “What choice have you?”

This morning he had men stand around, clad in shirt and breeks, weapons bared, while he released Tauno. The halfling rose, flexed the cramp out of his limbs, went to Eyjan and kissed her. Jonas shifted from foot to foot. “Well,” the youth said around a mouthful of cheese and hardtack, “well, let's away and get the thing done.”

Tauno shook his head. “First, food and water for my sister and me. As much as we need, too.”

Haakon frowned. “Best to eat lightly, or not at all, before battle.”

“Not for beings like us.”

A middle-aged, brown-haired man, who hight Steinkil, guffawed. “Right. Haakon, you know how seals gorge.”

The leader shrugged. He must struggle to hold back dismay when he saw what pounds of meat his captives put down. At the end, he snapped. “Now will you come?” and stalked for the door.

“A little span yet,” Tauno said.

Haakon wheeled about. “Have you forgotten what you are, here?”

Tauno gave him stare for stare. “Have you forgotten what captaincy is…even here?”

Then the Liri prince knelt by his sister, took her in his arms, and murmured into the fresh fragrances of her hair and flesh, “Eyjan, mine is the better luck. If I die, it will be cleanly. You—they're women, brats, and oldsters who'll guard you. Can't you play on their fears, or trick them somehow, and——?”

“I'll try,” she answered. “But oh, Tauno, I'll think of you the whole while! If only we went together this day!”

They looked into each other's eyes as they voiced the “Song of Farewells”:

Hard is the heartbeat when loves must take leave,

Dreary the dreeing, sundered in sorrow,

Unless they part lively, unweighted by weeping,

Gallantly going and boldly abiding,

Lightened by laughter, as oftentimes erstwhile.

Help me to hope that I'll see you right soon!

I'll lend you my luck, but back must you bring it——

He kissed her again, and she him. He got up and went outside.

Eleven ablebodied men and lads came along. They could handle two of the three skiffs that Haakon had from of old. Jonas had wanted to send for more from neighboring farms. “If we fail and perish,” he said, “this house is stripped of strength.”

Haakon denied him: “If we fail, everybody will perish. A fleet of boats could not overcome the tupilak. That was tried, you know. Three got away while it was wrecking the rest. Our main hope this time is our merman, and he's single. Also”—for an instant, glory flickered through his starkness—“I bear the name of king's reeve for this shire, not to risk lives but to ward them. Let us win as we are, and we will live in sagas as long as men live in Greenland.”

While the hulls were launched, Tauno stripped and bathed. He would not get weapons until the onslaught came. Most of the crew dreaded him too much, nearly as much as they did the monster. Well had they struck him down and bound him, but he stayed eldritch, and maybe no will less unbendable than Haakon's could have made them venture forth in his company.

Silent, they took their seats. Oars creaked in tholes, splashed in water, which clucked back against planks and made the skiffs pitch. Spindrift spread salt on lips. Meadows of home fell away aft; the fjord broadened, dark and foam-streaked, between sheer cliffs. Against the overcast wheeled a flock of black guillemot. Their cries were lost in the sinister singing of wind. The sun was a dull and heatless wheel, barely above the mountains; it was as if cold radiated from their snows and the glacier beyond.

Each man had an oar, Tauno also. He sat by Haakon in the bows. Before him were Jonas and Steinkil; the remaining pair in this craft were grubby drawfs whose names he did not know or care about. The second boat paced them, several fathoms to starboard. He leaned into his work, glad of the chance to limber and warm up, dismal though the task was. Erelong Haakon said, “Go easier, Tauno. You're outpulling us.”

“Strong as a bear, ha?” Steinkil flung over his shoulder. “Well, could be I'd liefer have a bear aboard.”

“Tease him not,” said Jonas unexpectedly. “Tauno, I…I'm sorry. Believe we'll keep troth with you. My father is a man of honor. I try to be.”

“As with my sister last night?” gibed the halfling.

Haakon missed a stroke. “What's this?”

Jonas cast Tauno a pleading glance. The latter took swift thought and said, “Oh, anybody could see how he hankered.” He felt no real anger at the attempted ravishment. Such matters meant little to him or Eyjan; if she'd had fewer partners than he, it was because she was two years younger; she knew the small spell that kept her from conceiving against her wish. He himself would happily tumble Jonas' sister Bengta, should that unlikely chance come—the more so when he and his own sister had had ever worse trouble holding back from each other on their long journey, for the sake of their mother who had abhorred that.… Besides, they could lose naught by his making the younker look pitifully grateful.

“Mortal sin,” Haakon growled. “Put that desire from you, boy. Confess and—ask lax Sira Sigurd to set you a real penance.”

“Blame him not,” Steinkil urged. “She's the fairest sight I've ever seen, and brazenly clad.”

“A vessel of Hell.” Haakon's words came ragged. “Beware, beware. We're losing our Faith in our loneliness. I shudder to think where our descendants will end, unless we——When we've finished with the tupilak—when we have, I say—I will go after my daughter.…What made her do it?” he almost screamed. “Forsake God—her blood, her kind—aye, a house around her, woven clothes on her back, white man's food and drink and tools and ways, everything we've fought through lifetimes to keep—play whore to the wild man who violated her, huddle in a snow hut and devour raw meat— What power of Satan could make her do it?”

He saw how they stared from the other skiff, clamped his lips, and rowed.

They had been an hour under way, and begun to hear thunder where open sea surfed on headlands, when their enemy found them.

A man in the next boat howled. Tauno saw foam around a huge brown bulk. It struck yonder hull, which boomed and lurched. “Fend it off!” Haakon bellowed. “Use your spears! Pull, you cravens! Get us over there!”

He and Tauno shipped their oars and crouched on their feet. The halfling reached low, took from the bilge a belt bearing three sheath knives which he had asked for, and buckled it on. Not yet did he go overboard. He watched what they neared, his eyesight gone diamond sharp, ears keen to every splash and bang and curse and prayer, nostrils drinking deep of the wind to feed lungs and slugging heart. His will shrank at what he saw, until Eyjan's image made him rally.

The tupilak had hooked a flipper, whereon were a bear's claws, across a rail. Its weight was less than a live animal's, but the boat was still canted so that men must struggle to keep afoot and aboard. Two shafts were stuck in the wrinkled hide—they wagged in horrible foolishness—and the broken halves of two more from earlier combats. No blood ran thence. At the end of a long, whipping neck, the head of a shark gaped and glassily glared. The limb jerked, the boat rocked, a man fell against the jaws, they sheared. Now blood spurted and bowels trailed. The wind blew away the steam off their warmth.

A rower aft in Haakon's boat yammered his terror. Steinkil leaned to cuff him, then doggedly returned to his oar. They closed from behind. Haakon braced his legs wide and hacked with a bill. Tauno knew he sought to tear the walrus skin, let out the stuffing of hay and rotten corpses——

The flukes of a killer whale lashed back, up from roiled water, down on the prow. Wood splintered. Haakon tumbled. Tauno dived.

He needed a split minute to empty his lungs, let in the brine, and change his body over to undersea breathing. The icy green currents around him dimmed and shortened vision—he saw churned chaos above and ahead—battle clamor crashed blow after blow on his eardrums. The currents were tainted by the iron smell and taste of human gore. The dead man sank past, slowly twirling on his way to the eels.

“We'll keep the thing busy as long as we can, while you hit from below,” Haakon had said. “That won't be very long.”

Ready, Tauno gripped a blade between his teeth and surged forward. Attacking, he lost both fear and self. There was no Tauno, no tupilak, no band of men; there was a fight.

The hulls were shadows, breaking and re-forming, on the splintery bright ceiling of his green world. Clearer was the tupilak, the curve of its paunch…he saw how thongs stitched it together, he caught an ooze of mildew and moldered flesh. Claws scythed on the rear flippers. Tauno swooped inward.

The knife was now in his hand. His legs drove him past as he cut. A long gap in the seam followed the blade. He swung beyond reach of a foot that swatted at him.

Arcing back in a stream of bubbles, he saw some bones of sailors drop out. Mindless, the tupilak raged yet against the Norse. He glimpsed how the tail battered, and the noise shook him.

In again—hold underwater breath against graveyard foulness, slice away from the seam, grab that corner, heave the flap of skin wide—a slash caught him along the ribs, he lost his knife, he barely kicked free.

The beast sounded. The shark snout turned about in search. Paddles and tail sent the gross form toward him. He thought fleetingly that had those been Inuit in the boats, they'd have known to sink many harpoons in the body, trailing bladders to hamper it. Well, at best the man-eater was slow and awkward. He could swim rings around it. To get close, however, was…something that must be done.

The maw flapped hollow about a skeleton that, yes, seemed to be coming apart here and there. But feet and tail still drove, jaws still clashed. Tauno got onto the back, where nothing could reach him. He clamped thighs tight, though barnacles chewed them. He drew a second blade, and worked.

He could not reach clear around that bulk. But when he let go, the tail threshed feebly, half severed. Dizziness passed in dark rags before his eyes. He must withdraw for a short rest.

Did a dim knowledge stir in the tupilak, or was it driven to fulfill the curse? It lumbered back to the boats.

If it sank those, whether or not it outlasted them, would Eyjan's captors ever let her go? He heard the mass ram on strakes, and rose for a look through air.

The second skiff drifted awash, helpless till the four crewmen left could bail out the hull and retrieve their floating oars. The tupilak struck again and again on Haakon's vessel, whose stem was broken and whose planks were being torn free of the ribs. Neck and head reached in after prey. Where was the sheriff? His son Jonas hewed bravely with an ax—likewise, beside him, Steinkil. As Tauno watched, Steinkil stumbled into the teeth. They shut. Blood geysered. He reeled back, clasping the wrist where his right hand had been.